


Of Hot Showers and Female Intuitions

by cyndrarae



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, First Time, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Series, Prostitution, Sex Toys, Teen Angst, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2017-12-28 20:43:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 102,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyndrarae/pseuds/cyndrarae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam‘s journey through teenage angst and sexual experimentation leads him to an irrefutable truth… he loves his big brother more than he should.<br/>(Not new, just porting more of my fics from LJ over to Ao3 but making a few edits in the process, corrections mostly. Wrote this a really, really, really long time ago. Pre-series, not compliant with anything except S1, maybe).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> #1. In case you missed it, this story will contain UNDERAGE love/sex, male slash, and INCEST. You've been warned!  
> #2. Back in 2006, there weren't enough fics out there exploring the genesis of wincest, which is why I wrote this. I'm sure this has been done several times over since then and by much MUCH more talented writers. So do be gentle, dear reader, because as with all my fics, I wrote it because _I_ wanted to read it.  
>  #3. Most chapters are written in Sam's POV, for the ones that aren't, I'll mention it explicitly. Sentences in //...// signs are thoughts, or like the person talking to themselves in their head.

_**Lincoln, New Mexico. April 1991** _

************************************

Sammy was eight when he first noticed the _change_ in his big brother.

It was early morning and as always, Dean held his hand firmly in his as they walked toward their new school in Lincoln, New Mexico. First day jitters was something the young boy would never ever get used to. But for some reason he never saw Dean getting jittered at all. 

“So you see Sammy, it's not bad to be bad the way Michael says he’s bad okay? That bad is not the dad gone mad, yelling 'go find a corner' kinda bad, and it's not the salt-and-burn evil spirit kinda bad either so basically this bad is really not that bad! Only he calls it bad ‘cause, well, because he  _can_  and ‘cause he wants the bad guys to think he’s just as bad as them and so they’d better not mess with him. Get it?”

Of  _course_  he didn’t. He didn't even care who this Michael Jackson person was. But that wasn’t the point. Sammy knew Dean kept up a continuous chatter all the way only to make him deal with his nerves better, and he was glad it was working.

As they neared the ominous looking building (well not really, but right then Sammy was too nervous to appreciate the finer details of architecture), he saw other kids also walking toward the school. All shapes and sizes and elementary to middle school ages. Sam was afraid he’d be the youngest and smallest in his class, again. Gradually he realized Dean wasn’t yammering away by his side anymore. He looked up and saw his brother’s neck craned away towards his left, his eyes following something so intently he’d forgotten all about his charge.

“Deeeaaan…”

Dean turned back to his whining, but only briefly before looking over Sam’s head at something else on his right.

“What are you looking at?”

Dean bit his lip and looked at his brother with mild annoyance, then smiled and lifted an eyebrow lightly.

“ _Heavenly bodies,_ Sammy.”

Sam squinted up at him, “In the day?”

Even he knew you couldn’t see any stars or planets without a telescope and unless it was night. Dean didn’t reply, he just halted mid-step and made Sam stop as well, then turned the kid’s body toward himself. Still staring at something in the background, he went down on one knee and started fiddling with the little boy’s shoelaces. 

Sam huffed. “What are you doing?”

“Tying up your laces, if you’re not careful they’re gonna come undone and trip you right up.”

Sam crossed his arms and tapped a foot. “My laces are  _fine_ , Dean. You’re so weird today.”

Dean wasn’t even looking at the damn strings as he first untied then knotted and then double-knotted them in a way Sam could never undo himself. God how he hated double knots.

Frowning, Sammy twisted his upper torso to see what Dean was so intently gazing at and that’s when he spotted the group of girls standing right behind him. Older girls, in their short skirts and tight tops and bright ribbons decorating their shiny long hair. All gushing and giggling and watching him and his big brother so intently, like they were freaks displayed in a circus.

He lowered his mouth to Dean’s ear closest to him and whispered cautiously.

“Dean, they’re laughing at us…”

Dean had this sly look on his face and when he turned to look at his little brother it quickly graduated to greater mischief.

“They’re not laughing at you, Sammy. They think you’re cute!”

“Aargh! Gross. Let’s go.”

Sammy pulled away from Dean’s hold on his hips, leaving his brother no choice but to get himself up and follow after him. Dean still kept looking back and grinning at those stupid teenage girls and Sammy just grabbed his hand and started dragging him faster into the building that had until only five minutes ago completely intimidated him.

“You’re getting so weird Dean. I’m telling Dad.”

***

Telling Dad didn’t exactly work the way he’d expected it to.

John just smiled, a spitting mirror image of how Dean had earlier that morning, ruffled the eight year old’s hair and walked away, intent on cleaning his Remington. Sammy had a distinct suspicion he was missing something. It became slowly clear to him when he flicked the television on and ghastly images of boys kissing girls and boys doing other unmentionables to girls fired the necessary synapses and joined the dots in his head.

“Eww, gross gross gross!”

Sammy switched off the offensive programme and went to work on his thousand piece jigsaw puzzle.

***

Over the course of the next few weeks, Sammy observed the change grow and expand until his brother was a completely different person. Sure he was still Dean. And Dean still looked after him - still fixed his lunch and shampooed his hair and cut it when it got long to keep it from falling over his eyes. Still pushed him on the swing and helped him finish the puzzle of the Taj Mahal. Read Moby Dick to him at bedtime and reminded him when his favorite TV shows were on if Sammy forgot himself, which was often.

But still… somehow… Dean was different.

When he wasn’t training with dad, this Dean spent more time on the phone, and longer hours in the bathroom in front of the mirror. He’d go out without Sam more often these days, not to play pool or video games even though the arcade was right next door. In fact, Sam could hardly find him there anymore. Instead one afternoon, he saw Dean and some girl sitting together in the ice cream parlor. He caught sight of them through the window and his first instinct was to holler ‘Dean!’ as loud as he could and then run in to join him.

But he stopped himself because… somehow… this Dean was... different.

This Dean smiled at the girl like… like she was the most important person in the world to him. Like… he really cared about her and he kept touching her hair and her hands, and they drank their butterscotch shake from the same glass like he and Sammy did and… 

No, Sam lowered his head into his chest and turned away.  _This_  Dean was not gonna want him there. Shoulders drooping, he adjusted the straps of his backpack and slowly walked away, back to their rented apartment.

***

An hour later, Dean walked in with a giant carton of Cookie Dough and Sammy forgave him. Two helpings later Dean batted his hands away and shoved the rest of the ice cream in the freezer. Sam pouted and sulked but Dean wouldn’t listen as he went about washing their bowls and spoons and setting them in their right places.

“C’mon Dean, pleaaaaase?”

“You’ll get a tummy ache and I ain’t listening to you moanin’ and groanin’ all night, Sammy.”

The pout worsened. And the resentment from before surfaced again. 

“Who was that girl? At Wally's with you?”

Dean turned to him surprised. “You came by the ice cream parlor from softball practice?”

Sam mutely nodded, afraid Dean might be pissed but he wasn’t. He just nodded and went back to work.

“Esmeralda. She’s in my class. Beautiful name, ain’t it?”

“Sounds like asthma,” Sam quietly mumbled.

Dean snorted and pretended to whack the top of Sammy’s head. Sam ducked anyway.

“Dork.” 

Sammy was used to being called all sorts of names by now; he didn't mind. But there was something else that was bothering him, almost like the beginnings of a tummy ache, but he didn't quite know why. Two small scoops of ice creams couldn't do that, could it?

“Dean?”

“Yeah…”

“You like her?”

Dean smiled, getting a glossy far away look in his eyes. “Hell yeah Sammy, I like her very much.”

“More than you like me?”

That brought him back. Dean looked at his little brother with a confused frown that lasted a few seconds. And then...

“Oh, Sammy…”

He put his big hands in the younger kid’s armpits and lifted him clear off his chair. He held him close as Sam easily wrapped his arms and legs around the older boy, clinging with a ferocity Dean had never felt from him before.

“I’ll always like you more than any girl, kid. You’re family. And family always comes first, you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“Good.”

Dean rubbed his back in slow rhythmic strokes for awhile, letting Sammy rest his head on the broader shoulder. Then a few seconds later, he set the boy down on his feet. Sam felt disappointed… now that he was eight, Dean hardly ever carried him around anymore and he missed it, even if he'd never, ever, _ever_ admit to it. 

Dean bent down, putting his hands on his knees as he descended to eye level with Sam.

“In four years Sammy, you’ll know what I’m talkin’ about. Girls aren’t evil you know.”

Sam crossed his arms in indignation. “Oh yeah? What about Portland?”

“What  _about_  Portland…?”

Sam sighed in dismay, couldn't believe Dean  _forgot_. “Rachel Wells?”

Dean chuckled, trying really hard to bite it back. Yeah, Rachel he remembered. The five-year old girl at Sam’s preschool who'd grabbed his face and kissed him on the lips. It was a traumatic experience the kid never really got over.

“Okay well, not  _all_  of them are evil. I kinda like them now and so will you.”

Sam just rolled his eyes then looked away. He did not believe his brother for a second, and was too young to comprehend, let alone articulate this strange feeling of rejection and… and displacement he felt right then. Like he’d lost something valuable but he wasn’t quite sure what.

So Sammy did what Winchesters do best when things got uncomfortable: he changed the subject.

“So are we gonna play ball or what?”

Dean looked like he’d forgotten all about their play date, fidgeted because he obviously didn’t want to keep it anymore. Sam recognized that gesture, and felt something breaking inside.

“It's okay, I’m too tired anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

Sam shrugged, walked over to the couch and picked up the remote. “Yeah.”

He noticed Dean swallowing hard, like when he was trying to make up his mind about something. Then came over to where Sam sat and knelt beside him.

“Sammy, if you want we can play ball tomorrow, okay?”

He shrugged again, like it didn’t matter, kept staring numbly at the screen. “Yeah, okay.”

“Thanks buddy. You’re the best kid brother in the world!”

Dean kissed him on the forehead just before Sam could shove him off, then rushed to the bathroom to grab a shower and spend his mandatory hour in front of the mirror.

***

Sam flipped through the channels, biting his lip to stop it from trembling so hard. Maybe it was just a phase every teenager went through, he mused. Sooner or later… he will get over his new obsession with them  _chicks_ , heck he is bound to. It's Dean after all… and Dean  _always_ got bored of stuff so easily. Always. Yeah, that’s right. 

Chicks schmicks. 

Sam found a cartoon show he liked, pulled a duvet over himself and settled in more comfortably.

//Give it time Sammy. He’ll come around.//

  *** 

(tbc)


	2. Chapter 2

**Humboldt Bay,  California.**  
September 1995  
  
**********************************************  

Sam turned twelve before the first hairs started sprouting on his chest and under his arms and… down there. 

Needless to say, the little bastards brought with them a gigantic sense of relief. In gym class especially, respect for an individual was highly contingent upon the visual detectability and bounteousness of said individual’s pubic hair. And something was better than nothing, no matter how sparse they may be.

He’d also started growing at last, while Dean had apparently  _stopped,_  much to the seventeen year old's chagrin and Sam’s amusement. At five feet two, Sam now stood taller than most of his class but still about ten inches to go until he could look big brother in the eye.

It was after midnight that night. Sam lay on his stomach, wrapped in a hundred sheets and blankets, breathless and sweating and wide awake. In his discomfort he couldn't even toss and turn because any movement would only serve to make it worse. He clenched his fists and eyes shut tight, but the pain simply wouldn’t go away.

After what felt like hours of agony, he heard the main door click open and bit back a soft groan about to escape his lips. His family was back from another hunt, and was making no effort whatsoever to keep it down. To hell with the time and the fact that the youngest Winchester had school the next day.

“Two extra sets at 0500 in the morning.”

“But Dad, it was just one shot!”

“That’s enough back-talk from you, boy!”

Sam heard Dean’s voice drop three notches when he spoke next.

“Sir. The ground was wet and slippery. I couldn’t help it and it was  _only_  for a second.”

“Guess you need to work on your balance then. Three sets. At o- _four_  hundred.”

“…”

“…”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go check on Sammy.”

Which equated to dismissed, of course. The younger boy braced himself for a door slam, or stomping footsteps, that never came. And Sam was reminded of another reason why he would never be John Winchester's favorite son.

Soft light from the corridor streamed into the bedroom that the brothers shared, and Sam stiffened. From beneath the covers, he could sense Dean’s every movement and action without even trying. Dean silently stormed to his bed, sat down at the foot with his feet planted firmly apart on the floor and elbows resting on his knees. Leaning forward, hands wringing each other over and over as he tried to regain his composure. Sam rolled his eyes to nobody. If only that barely restrained temper was directed at the person who truly deserved it.

He stayed quiet, still as he could be, wanting to give his brother the privacy he obviously needed.

“Breathe, Sammy. I know you’re awake.”

For a second Sam continued to play dead, wanting desperately to prove the smartass wrong. But very soon he realized the futility (not to mention stupidity) of it and just pouted, head poking out to look at his brother’s taut profile in the pale moonlight streaming in from the window.

“Did it get away?”

Dean shook his head, not having looked his way once so far.

“Then what’s the problem?”

No answer. Moments like these, Sam felt helpless. There was nothing he could say or do. If he sided with Dad, strong chances were that it'd be unfair to Dean and something he never did anyway. But even when he sided with Dean, Dean himself would promptly start defending Dad, which defeated the whole purpose to begin with, so he just kept his trap shut.

“Maybe you should go to sleep, you have to be up early.” 

O four hundred. // Holy shit. //

Dean sighed, turned his way for the first time and their eyes met. Then he nodded and stood back up, shrugging out of his jacket, and quickly approached Sam’s bed.

“You’re right. Let’s take care of this then.”

Before Sam could ask 'what' or even frown, Dean was peeling away the multiple layers of bedsheets and blankets from the younger boy’s body revealing his slender form clad in a white t-shirt and blue shorts. The whimper that escaped his mouth was one less for pain and more for sheer relief, and gratitude.

Sam buried his face in the pillow as Dean’s warm hands gently yet firmly started to knead the back of his knees down to his ankles, then working upwards again.

“You don’t have to…”

“Settle down…”

“You’re exhausted…”

“You’re in pain.”

 _It's not that bad_ , Sammy wanted to say. 

He wanted so desperately to prove to his big brother that he wasn’t a baby anymore. And  _hence_  the growing pains which he really should be dealing with better, but, oh… Dean’s hands massaging his throbbing limbs were absolutely the best palliatives in the world.

Sam tilted his head to one side to catch a glimpse of Dean's face… which seemed to have calmed somewhat, even if it still sported a mild tinge of… self-hatred. He watched in awe as slowly yet surely, the lines thinned out, along with the pain in his legs. Almost as if the exercise was helping soothe Dean’s mental troubles away as much as his own physical ones.

Sam’s eyes were drooping when he felt a hand briefly ruffle his hair and a whisper caressed his ear.

“Stop right here, Sammy boy. You’re not allowed to grow any taller. I  _forbid_  you.”

Sam joyfully smirked his way down to a deep and restful sleep.

 

***

 

The girl they called Penny, short for Penelope, was the farthest thing from shy one could possibly be. It wasn’t like she was drop-dead gorgeous. And she was far from popular, choosing to hang on her own instead of joining any of the girl cliques. But she had this great sense of humor, brilliant timing for wit and an awesome  _awesome '_ couldn’t care less' attitude. All of which made her extremely appealing to Sam.

They started out as partners for a school project. Pretty soon, they were sitting together in the cafeteria, studying together in the library, walking back home together and in general, doing pretty everything… together.

Then came the day the girl balanced her slight weight on the tip of her toes and boldly kissed him. On the lips.

The last time this had happened Sammy had been five, and he’d bawled his eyes out for hours after. This time around though, he didn’t mind. Like, at  _all_. But when it was over, all Sam Winchester could think was…

// Huh. //

He wondered where his violins were, or why he couldn’t smell the flowers bloom or any of the shit they say is supposed to happen when you have your first kiss. He wasn’t prepared, but he hadn’t needed to. It felt almost organic, came so easy… but it was special in its own way too, different. Soft… fragile and yet  _safe_ … and so, so... feminine… an adjective he hadn’t had much opportunity to use before. He’d never paid attention to how girls smelled before – so fresh, and fruity. Or maybe flowery, or both.

Sam walked home that day holding hands with Penny Green, wishing there’d be more opportunities to feel her lovely fragrance waft over his skin again, and soon. 

“So do you want to go the mall today?”

Sam’s smile widened, this would be like… their first date. “Yeah, sure.”

Penny smiled back happily. “What time’s your curfew?”

“Uhh, I have to be home by eight.”

For his training session. It was Thursday. Rocky Balboa night.

“Wow that’s harsh. What happens if you get late? Your old man doesn’t hit you does he?”

// No. He just makes me stand on one leg for an hour and do fifty pushups. //

“Nah, he’s cool. Does yours?”

“God, no! Just… some kids in class have really weird families. I’m glad you’re not one of them.”

Sam just pursed his lips and smiled back as evenly as possible.

 

***

 

He practically skipped his way back to the apartment. He couldn’t wait to see Penny and maybe they could do the whole kissing thing again. Maybe she’d even let him put his tongue inside her mouth. He pushed the door to his bedroom open and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Dean?”

What was he doing home at this time of the day sleeping?

“Hey, Dean?”

He shook his brother’s shoulder twice before he saw the bruises on his face, the bandage peeking out from under his black shirt and the large red blotch of blood over it. Dean winced, clearly doped up on their illegally acquired stash of pain medication. He barely opened his eyes to look up at Sam before closing them back again.

// Shit. //

“I’m sorry, go back to sleep.”

Dean didn’t need to be asked twice, and Sam wondered where Dad was. He searched the apartment and finding it empty, gritted his teeth in utter rage. Heart thumping loudly like it always did every time he saw Dean hurt, all thoughts left his mind except relief that at least Dean was okay (mostly) and… still breathing. Sam forgot all about his date and stayed put at home, cooking dinner and cleaning up and doing his homework, foregoing the hot shower he craved so badly, and checking up on his brother once every ten minutes. 

Dean didn’t stir all night.

He apologized to Penny the next day, or at least he tried to. They didn’t have a phone line in the crappy little house yet and he hadn’t wanted to leave Dean alone long enough to go out to make the call.

Penny had waited two hours for Sam to show up. She had actually made an effort to dress up and look good for their first date and he hadn’t showed up.

Four days of being freezed out was all he could handle before Sam finally managed to corner her in the library.

“Penny, please talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Sam.”

“Okay but, just let me ask you this. What would you do if your brother had an accident?”

She stared at him blankly. “I don’t have a brother. Or sister. But I would have  _called_. I'm your friend, I could have helped, Sam.”

“I’m so sorry. I should have gone out to make a call, it's just…”

Sam just exhaled, ran a hand through his hair, not sure how to finish the sentence. Penny studied the troubled look on his face, gripped her books against her chest tightly. 

“Guess you were too worried to leave his side, huh…”

The glimmer of relief and hope in his eyes was unmistakable.

 

***

 

They gradually fell back into their usual routine of friendship, and the good times returned. Neither mentioned their aborted attempt at dating again but neither stopped thinking about it either. Penny was not one for coyness and after like weeks of waiting for Sam to make the move, she just gave up on the big clueless oaf and brought it up herself.

“So… you going to the dance?”

Saturday night.

//Oh shit. Not again.//

Saturday was when Dad would be gone to Sacramento for the weekend, and Dean and Sam were planning to go trekking and rappelling. For the first time in a long while, Dean had offered to take him out for something that was  _not_ a training or a mission but just plain fun. They hadn’t actually seen much of each other since they came to Humboldt Bay. Dean was accompanying John on most missions and now played a more active role in the  _family business_. Sam was really  _really_  looking forward to spending Saturday with his brother. 

“Penny… Saturday is, that is… I have to… my brother and I…”

Penelope looked away, bit her lip and Sam may not have known her all that long, or all that well, but he recognized _that_ gesture as clearly as if it was Dean doing it.

“I’m so sorry.”

She looked back at him, her shutters firmly down and a plastic smile pasted on her face.

“No need to be sorry, I didn’t wanna go either. Dances are lame anyway. I’d rather be at home and read Faulkner and complete my critique on the new Motorhead album for the school mag anyway.”

Sam didn’t know what to say, and a slight iciness settled between the couple once again.

 

***

 

Saturday morning, when Sam woke up, Dean still hadn’t come back home. When Sam asked Dad where he was, John just smirked.

“I don’t ask your brother what he does in his free time, you know that. But if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say he was at Karen’s.”

It took Sam a couple seconds to make the connection. “Diner girl?”

“Uh-huh.”

Sam made his ‘I don’t approve not like anybody listens to me’ face.

“I swear you guys have just the worst taste in women.”

John bit back a grin, his son had clearly no idea how cute that sounded coming from a twelve-year old.

“Let me guess. Your girl is  _not_  blonde and does  _not_  wear make up.”

Sam’s mouth fell open in shock. “How… I… I don’t have a girl!”

Now John openly chuckled as he went to pick up his duffel bag and the keys to his truck.

“Sure kid, whatever you say.”

Sam trailed after him as he made his way to the door. “You’ve been spying on me?”

“I got better things to do with my time, Sammy.”

Sam felt a tinge of disappointment at that, before John turned back toward him and flashed a toothy grin.

“I leave all the dirty work to Dean.”

“Dean  _knows_!??!”

John laughed all the way out and to his truck.

 

***

 

Noon came and Sam sat at their tiny kitchen table, all packed and ready to go. He even packed Dean’s stuff just so they didn’t waste any time whenever his brother showed up. Felt kinda anxious now that Dean knew about his... well...  _girlfriend_. Sam smiled and blushed despite being alone, not looking forward to and yet eager to hear what Dean thought about Penny. He tapped his foot and hummed Nirvana over and over trying to while the time away and if he was honest to himself, trying to suppress the storm working its way up from his stomach to his throat.

//He didn’t forget. He’s going to be here, any time now.//

He figured this is how Penny must have felt when he stood her up at the mall. Damn, Dean had never ever ditched him before. He didn’t know who to call to find out where he was. What if he was in trouble?

Sam almost made his way out the door at the thought. Then paced, back and forth, up and down the length and breadth of their tiny apartment.

//He is okay, he is okay. He just… forgot.//

Which at this point felt just as bad.

At five PM, Sam walked out the door convinced something was wrong. Dean was in danger. He went to the diner and found out Karen had no shifts today. He put his puppy dog eyes to good use, knowing very well that on his face at twelve years of age, they were possibly the deadliest weapons of persuasion known to man, and got her address.

He walked the ten minutes to where her place was and saw the Impala parked out front. Sam didn’t need any further proof. The storm broke, rising up his throat and pricking viciously at the back of his eyes.

On his way back Sam found a public phone booth, bit down on his quivering lip and stepped in.

“H-Hi Penny…”

“Sam! What’s up?”

“I… uhh, I was wondering… that is, if you don’t have any plans… and I completely understand if you do… umm I was… you know…”

“I’d love to.”

Penny let him put his tongue in her mouth at the dance.

 

***

 

A week later, Dean walked into their bedroom late at night. He could discern very slight movements along with a soft but unmistakable groan from under the thick covers on Sam’s bed. He sighed, shrugged out of his jacket and made it to his brother’s bed.

“Sammy…” he softly whispered, “shh… it's okay.”

He started to pull off the covers but faced unexpected resistance. Sam’s face emerged, flushed and not so wide awake as usual. And then he groaned but for a very different reason.

“Mmhh… dude, get off...”

“What?… oh… _oh_...”

It took Dean several seconds to understand but when realization dawned, his brows hiked up and eyes went buck wide and then he couldn’t stop laughing. He should have guessed, spotting the boy’s hand being yanked out of somewhere between his skinny legs, and his maroon boxers hanging lower than usual, showing off more skin than Dean was comfortable with.

Sam dove back under the covers and curled up on one side, refusing to look at or even acknowledge Dean’s presence in the room.

"Dude!!"

“Go away!”

Dean laughed harder and got up from Sam's bed to go sit at his own.

“And here I thought I’d have to  _teach_  you to jerk off Sammy.”

Sam pleaded. “Dean, quit it! Please??”

But Dean was not letting him off so easy.

“Hey it's about time you started polishing the family jewels already. Welcome to manhood, little brother!”

Sam just groaned louder, his hard-on long deceased and now just mortified beyond words.

“Fact, going  _Han solo_ is only the next best thing to actual sex. You have my whole-hearted approval little big boy, go ahead and hump your hose, spank your monkey… tickle your pickle…”

Sam jumped up straight in bed and threw all his pillows one after the other at Dean.

“Fuck off!!”

His brother ducked and dodged but held his ground.

“I know you can’t help it, in our line of work, you just gotta  _rough up the suspect_ now and again!”

“You can’t possibly go on forever.”

“Sure I can! Sight of you slappin’ the salami is enough to inspire the very worst in me, Sammy… go ahead and varnish your flagpole, whip that puppy, shake the sausage, or is that swell the sausage?”

“Aaargh!! Go away! Go away!”

Sam picked up the alarm clock from the bedside table and was about to let it fly when Dean stood up in self-defense, still sniggering as he backed away to the door.

“Alright, alright... that’s enough playing  _yank-e-doodle,_  you dirty little boy…”

“I’m gonna chuck it, seriously.”

“Stop it, you’re  _makin’ our mother blush!”_

The clock shattered against the door sliding close only a nanosecond before it could thump Dean in the face.

 

 ***

 


	3. Chapter 3

_**Little Rock, Arkansas.** _  
_**June 1998** _

_********************************* _

Exactly one month after his fifteenth birthday, Sam Winchester lost his virginity to an eighteen year old girl named Natalie. 

Being the idiot savant that he was, Sam was taking an honors class in calculus. Natalie was the sexy head cheerleader with dark blonde hair and sea green eyes and a zillion admirers. The fact that she was also taking calculus was probably what intrigued Sam way more than her flawless looks. She was also fresh out of a sucky long-distance relationship with some college guy who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. Regardless of whether it was rebound or retribution (or something genuine), Natalie now sat right behind Sam and constantly kept checking him out. 

Monday was his first day in Little Rock High. After ten years in the American public education system and going through like forty different schools, you’d think it would eventually get easier. It never did.

So as always, soon as classes ended, he avoided the rest of the student body and made his way back to their newly leased house. It's not like he was allowed to waste any time on sports anymore anyway.

Tuesday at lunch, Sam noticed her staring at him, smiling coyly, surreptitiously... crossing and un-crossing her legs so many times she might as well have been signaling her intentions in Morse code. Sam blushed, met her gaze with a shy smile but barely, then ran out of the cafeteria and all the way back to the privacy of his bedroom.  

Wednesday morning though, she stopped him before he could escape and asked if he could... _tutor_ her.

"Tu-tutor you?"

“My place… tonight, say… eight?”

Her parents were never home till midnight so they could…  _study,_  in peace.

Wednesday evening, Sam stammeringly confessed to her that he’d never gone all the way before.

Thursday morning, Sammy woke up with a silly-ass grin on his face that refused to go away all week. Dean figured out his brand new non-virginal status at once and his approval came in the form of some massively crude not subtle at all teasing which also refused to go away all week.

Of course, nobody at school knew about the two of them. Natalie’s reputation was far too precious to be tarnished by admitting to any sort of association with the three years younger, geeky transfer student from… where was it again?

“Wichita.” 

"Sorry, I forget.”

“It's okay.” With the amount of moving about the Winchesters did, sometimes Sam forgot too.

 

*** 

 

The  _tutoring_  continued for a month or so before Natalie voiced an interesting observation. They lay next to each other on her queen-sized bed basking in the afterglow of yet another round of amazing sex.

“You’re so quiet.”

Sam had his eyes closed, partly from exhaustion and partly because it physically hurt to look at the décor of the room… everything was, in Dean’s words, so stereotypically chick-ly, so… lavender.

“What do you mean?”

Natalie propped herself up on one elbow and stared at the tall skinny boy in nothing but his plaid boxers.

“I mean when you come, when we kiss… when I blow you…”

Sam blushed. “Okay, I get it! So what?”

Natalie frowned. “It's not normal. That was the best sex I’ve had since I was fourteen which by the way is a  _lot_ of sex and in all these years there hasn’t been one guy who did  _not_  scream the roof down. Or beg and plead. Or moan. Or cry.”

“Cry?”

“Uh-uh. Weep incoherently, and occasionally sob… with unbearable happiness.”

Sam smirked but did not reply. He really didn’t have an answer for her. Guess he just wasn’t the hysterical type?

Natalie sighed loudly, then pulled up to her knees and positioned herself in front of Sam’s endless legs. Sam chuckled in exasperation; even at his age he couldn’t possibly go a fourth time so soon.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying something new.”

Natalie pulled his boxers off him and threw it across the room, then spread his legs wide open until they lay on either side of her as she crouched in between. Before Sam could protest or even wonder what she was up to, one hand was lifting up his sac and penis and holding them out of the way. The other hand she lifted to her mouth and sucked on a couple of fingers, getting them thoroughly wet.

“Nat what the - ”

He couldn’t complete. A soft, feminine finger slid down his perineum, which was enough in itself to make Sam gasp, but didn’t stop there. It headed downward to circle his little pucker and his breath caught in his throat. One circle, two circles, three… four…

“Ahh, Nat…”

Natalie smiled, now  _that_  was more like it. Then without warning, she breached through the opening. Sam wasn’t prepared and the sudden intrusion made him sort of uncomfortable. He squirmed trying to get away at first, which only led to a really odd… and acute awareness of the orifice between his legs.

“Nat come on…”

“Be still baby… don’t wanna nick you from the inside…”

A mild panic burbled up the pit of his stomach at those words, not entirely sure what a  _nick_  could do to his… and that was when it truly hit him.

// Sonofabitch! She has a finger up my shit-hole! //

Sam tried to pull back but Natalie persisted, working her way through the initial resistance until she was deep inside and curling her finger just right. That was the moment when Sam moaned… a sound so beautiful and naïve and carefree… it sent delicious shivers right down the girl’s own spine.

“You like that don’t you, baby?”

Sam bit his lip, astounded by the intense new sensations he’d never ever felt before. How come he’d never felt this… this good…  _Oh God_ … Sam never thought it was even possible to be so unbelievably turned on. The finger pushed in as far as it could go, then was pulled back until it was almost all the way out. Then before Sam could react, she pushed it in again. Gradually she built up a rhythmic motion fucking his too tight hole as she stroked his growing erection and rolled the balls getting tighter with every inward thrust.

Sam couldn’t bite back another series of hisses and squawks and by this time wasn’t even trying to anymore, much to his lover’s delight. And then he made her happier when he started to plead.

“Do… do that again.”

“What’s that, baby?”

Sam threw his head back in frustration, his legs flaying apart of their own volition.

“That… that thing… I don’t know just… please…”

Natalie curled her finger again, the long manicured nail ever so gently scraping against his uncharted prostate. Fireworks exploded behind Sam’s closed eyelids and his moans were so loud Natalie began to worry the neighbors would come knocking. She put her free hand over his mouth, then leaned in to kiss him hard… hard enough to leave bruises. Meanwhile she added a second finger inside of him and started scissoring him open which hurt some more and yet only seemed to encourage his brand new erection.

“Oh God. Natalie… what are you doing to me?”

Natalie grinned brightly, rubbing her legs together and mushing her own wetness around. She planted teasingly chaste kisses on his jaw line and whispered in his ear.

“I know how to make you  _cry_.”

Sam looked into the girl’s eyes that were glinting not so benevolently. Then just as abruptly she backed off of him, her fingers slipping out, leaving him feeling inexplicably empty… unfulfilled and oh so hard.

“Where you going?”

//Don’t leave me like this. I… I don’t know what to do.//

“Be right back. We need lubricant.”

The cheerleader blew him a joyful kiss and then with another grin, she was gone. Sam sank back down into the two hundred lavender cushions and closed his eyes. Three words repeated themselves over and over again like a tape loop in his warped brain.

//What. The. Hell?//

 

***

 

“Sammy!!”

Sam was yanked out of his water-clogged reverie by the loud, agitated voice of his brother.

“Come on out, you’ve been beating off for days in there!”

//Jerk.//

But a big reason why Sam was so annoyed was also that Dean was right. Sam had been in the shower for almost an hour and hadn’t even noticed until now, as he glanced at his watch sitting on the sink. Cursing vehemently under his breath, he started to rinse off. His obsession was expanding to control his every waking moment… maybe every sleeping one as well.

//Damn you, Nat.//

After that night at her place, Sam had come home feeling confused, miserable and massively turned on. What was going on with him? Was this natural? Was he turning gay? But he’d never even looked at a guy in his entire life. He still didn’t. He still stole glances at the girls in his class and the women crossing him on the street. Still admired their shapely legs and full bosoms and lush lips and sky-high eyelashes. So bisexual then?

Or maybe just a regular, straight guy who just happened to like things shoved up his ass then?

//Aargh.//

That one night of daring explorations with Natalie almost two weeks ago had changed nearly everything. Now every time he got into the shower (the only place that ensured complete and utter privacy in the Winchester household), Sam found himself lifting up to rest a foot on one edge of their tiny bathtub. Then he would slick his right hand with soap and tentatively seek out that traitorous place between his legs. He remembered seeing stars the first time he’d stroked his own sweet spot. God, it felt better, way better than anything else.

Coupled with a good hard fisting of his uncircumcised cock, the sensations got so intense and… and  _carnal_ … Sam could swear that in those precious few moments he was floating in air, rapidly ascending towards heaven.

The days he denied himself this inane pleasure, he never managed to come as hard. But the days when he didn’t resist, he found a whole new level of eroticism that resulted in mind-blowing orgasms, the kind he’d never ever had before. Sometimes four or five times in one day.

//Samuel Winchester. You’re one horny,  _fucked up_ teenager alright. Pun totally intended.//

"Sammy! You coming or do I have to come and drag you out of the shower?"

"I'm coming, I'm coming, jeez!" No pun intended there, Sam thought to himself grumpily. Who could possibly find release with his annoying ass of a brother banging the door down every two minutes? 

Sam stepped out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. Dean sat by the window going through some research stuff John had left behind for them to study. Only Dean could manage to  _sprawl_  on the tiny couch like it was the plush-est kingsized sofa in the world.

Sam envied his brother’s knack for quickly making himself at home every new place they moved to. Dean never seemed to mind this lifestyle – this living out of the damn duffel bag. Sam on the other hand… with every new town and every new school, his resentment quintupled.

He opened the cupboard next to where Dean sat to pull out a fresh pair of jeans and underwear. Dean raised a booted foot and not so kindly bumped Sam in the butt, sending him scrambling face first into the open cupboard. By the time Sam regained his balance Dean was still chuckling. Sam yelled at him, utterly pissed off.

“You’re such a dickhead!”

Unfortunately, Dean was quite undeterred from his mood to mess with him.

“I see someone’s had a good time.”

Sam flushed and turned back to the cupboard. “Fuck off.”

Dean sniggered some more. “Come on Sammy, you know I can tell just by looking at your face.”

Sam frowned, blushing deeper but pretended he wasn’t listening.

“All red and repentant like you’ve been a very,  _very_  bad boy!”

Dean’s singsong voice could be so damn irritating. Sam didn’t know how to handle his brother when he was in this mood. He’d just never been inclined to joking about stuff like… sex… and masturbating, and definitely not with his big brother. And especially not now when… when…

//Damn you, Natalie!//

Dean was still laughing and Sam glared at him, picked up the clothes and went back to the bathroom to change… slamming the door hard till it shook at the hinges. Wouldn’t help if Dean saw how even talking about it was making his towel tent. He’d cursed the cheerleader in his life countless times in last two weeks. No matter what anybody said, girls were just plain  _evil_. And Sam had more reasons to believe it, now more so than ever.

 

***

 

Close to midnight he was roughly shaken awake and he groaned, expressing his outrage as loudly as possible.

“Get up Sammy. Grab your gear. Now.”

Dean was in mission mode. Dad had called a minute ago ordering the boys to go dig up another grave. Sam bit back the next string of expletives ready to roll off his tongue and got dressed. Five minutes later they were in the Impala, speeding toward the burial site on the outskirts of town.

It was supposed to be a simple gig… dig and salt and burn, then get out of there. The boys didn’t expect to be attacked by a couple of hound dogs who, apparently, had been protecting their master’s grave ever since his gruesome death four years ago. Both the boys were carrying their guns but Sam was not very keen on using it on the animals who, by his book, were perfectly innocent… just following their beloved master’s commands.

He was wrong.

For some stupendously unfair reason, everything evil (and/or furious) always gravitated towards Sam first. His stubborn hesitation to shoot (at anything really) was also a huge factor at play but Sam was not about to admit that. So once again he was the one getting thrown to the ground and mauled before Dean could blow the vicious beasts away. The attack left him with several scratches on his face and a shoulder that would surely have been bitten to shreds if the dogs had held on a second longer.

"Dean..." Sam groaned in pain, he couldn't help it. It was a reflexive reaction - wanting his big brother to come get him and fix it, whatever it was, like he always did. 

“Shh, it's okay Sammy, it's okay.”

Dean gathered his little brother’s wiry lean form from behind, pulling Sam up so he could rest his head on Dean’s collarbone. Dean shrugged his flannel shirt off and wrapped it tightly around the bleeding shoulder as Sam struggled to catch his breath. He closed his eyes in exhaustion and the steadily mounting pain, deadweight against his brother but that was okay because he knew Dean would take care of him.

Dean always took care of him.

Then he felt Dean bury his lips in his unruly hair and kiss him hard… no words were said, but a sense of relief and safety flooded Sam through and through.

 

***

 

After they returned from the ER, Dean put him to bed and tucked him in like he hadn’t in a couple years. His big, brave brother must have thought him to be asleep or he never would have gripped Sam’s hand in both of his for as long as he did. Sam couldn’t help but smile in the dark, cherishing the increasingly rare touch of Dean’s hands – strong and warm, and eternally comforting.

That night when Sam dreamed, he saw himself in bed, naked and face down… Legs bent at the knees and spread as wide apart as possible in that position. He saw his own hands reach behind and pull his ass cheeks apart, blatantly exposing himself to all and sundry. Then he saw Dean…

Leaning over him, kissing the top of his head like he had back at the graveyard. But he didn’t stop there. Sam watched Dean’s face as he trailed kisses down dream-Sam’s slender neck, tongued every single vertebrae in his protruding spine until he reached the still open cleft of his ass. He watched, a helpless but riveted bystander, as Dean inserted two slippery long digits into his quivering anus far as they could go… and saw his dream-self undulating with passion… fucking himself on his brother’s fingers...

Sam woke up with a painful gasp, as if from a horrible nightmare. The pain from his wounds all but forgotten, he just sat there in the dark, alone, crouching in one corner of his bed. Distant voices floated in from the living room, letting him know his father and brother (his _brother_!) were close by. Dean was apologizing for something; Dad was telling him not to be so hard on himself.

 _These things happen_ , he was saying.

 _Do they?_   Sam thought miserably to himself, in a completely different context. 

He could not bring himself to go back to sleep for the rest of the night.

 

  ***


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small interlude in here that is from Natalie's POV, then switches back to Sam.

_**Little Rock, Arkansas.** _  
_**September 1998** _

********************************

 

“What about Principal Bridges?”

“ _Noooo_ ,” Sam rolled his eyes for the forty-third time and drawled. 

Natalie smirked mischievously and tugged at the soft curls at the back of his neck. They were lying together in her bed, Sam flat on his back with his hands folded under his head, and Natalie’s petite form pressed up against his left side from head to toe. She had her hands round his neck and looked into his eyes as she continued the merciless interrogation.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you baby?”

// What the hell makes you think I owe you the truth? //

Aloud, he just threw it back. “What do _you_ think?”

Natalie smiled and kissed his nose playfully.

“I was just wondering. There’s gotta be some guy in school you find… um… moderately hot?”

Sam sighed and shook his head in resignation.

// Not in school. //

“For the hundredth time Nat, I’m NOT interested in guys. Why are we still discussing this?”

The girl smiled brazenly, one eyebrow perched high up her temple. “Just… a female intuition…”

“Whatever.”

Sam closed his eyes and tried to pretend she wasn’t there. Natalie picked up on his irritation that apparently had reached its limit of tolerance and let it go.

For now.

They lay like that for a few minutes, enjoying the comfortable silence. Moping and fretting in the privacy of their own minds.

Then Natalie licked his lips and suddenly sighed. “So, when do you leave?”

School year had come to an end, and Natalie was preparing to go away to college. She was excited to start a new life at the media arts school in California. Her going away party was a week from now. Unfortunately, but predictably, Sam wasn’t going to be around to see her off, or even to start his own academic year in Little Rock.

“Thursday,” he murmured just as forlornly.

Next stop: Ten Sleep, Wyoming. For who knew how long this time. From the sound of it, Sam wasn't sure they 'd have a school for him to go to at all.

“I’d really like it if you came to see me at UCLA.”

Sam smiled. “I’d love to.”

He’d been entertaining the idea of applying to UCLA himself, eventually, when his time came. And not just because Natalie would be there. UCLA was supposed to have the best Applied Sciences undergraduate program in the country. Either that or Psychology, he hadn't quite made up his mind yet. Anything would do really, if he were being honest with himself.

 

***

 

Natalie was never, ever, going to admit this, but she was really sad to see this young, exclusive catch of hers go. Sam had been a wonderful lover, sort of a guilty pleasure every popular cheerleader must hide if she wanted to retain her position at the top of the food chain, as it were. But even though he was a super-awkward socially inept geek, Sam was also super-smart and super-witty, which she secretly had a massive kink for. And even though he was sort of skinny and gangly and could yet use some definition to his budding new muscles, Natalie could already visualize the tall, dark and handsome hunk this boy might someday become. Gentlemanly, courteous, and oh so willing to please.

But most of all, he’d been so adventurous… open to experimentation and... _alternative stuff_ , more than any other guy she knew.

Natalie bit her lip, thinking of all the toys they’d been playing with in the last couple of months. Abruptly she got up, went to her lingerie drawer and pulled something out. Sam looked at her curiously.

"I have something for you."

“What’s that?”

She turned and showed him the toy held in her hands.

It was the bright pink colored, vibrating dildo they had used on each other once before. A red ribbon was tied into a neat bow at its base. She'd also put serious effort in cleaning it thoroughly and re-packing it in its original box wrapping.

"Ta-da," she announced coyly, watching carefully for Sam's reaction.   

Sam's eyes nearly popped right out of his skull. Even after all this time, Sam couldn’t hide the hot blush coloring his cheeks, almost as pink as the wretched thing in Natalie’s hands. The girl flopped back onto the bed on her stomach and kissed him thoroughly.

“I want you to have this.”

“No, I can’t…”

“Why not? Thought you enjoyed it as much as I do!”

The mortified expression on Sam's face was unmistakable. And it only made Natalie more certain she'd chosen the right parting gift for her beautiful, young lover.

 

***

 

Sam wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere and die, mainly because they both knew it was true - Sam did enjoy this little instrument of... torture. More, way more than he'd wanted to.

“See I got it engraved and everything…”

As Natalie showed him the words carved into the base ‘For Sam, With Love – Natalie’, Sam grimaced and wondered what shop in this pea-sized town had agreed to do the sordid job. Suddenly he thought it was a very, very good thing he was leaving.

“Natalie, in case you didn’t notice, I already have a dick.”

She laughed and slid her hand under his thigh, pinching his butt.

“Yeah well, unlike yours Sammy, this one goes where you need it the most.”

The girl’s voice was a sharp hiss right into his ear and the words took his breath away. He swallowed in vain; his mouth was dry.

“I can’t take this, Nat.”

“It's just something to remember me by. Please, baby? It’d break my heart if you said no.”

Sam sighed. Whatever, he thought. He could always pitch it to the side of the road once he got out of here.

“Think of it as a stop-gap arrangement, really. You might not need it for too long, I suspect.”

“I don’t need it _period._ ”

Sam’s highly unpleasant scowl and narrowed eyes didn’t bother Natalie in the least. Instead, she just grinned lasciviously, and it was Sam who didn’t like that look in her eyes one bit.

“I saw your brother that day after the game, when he came to pick you up?”

Sam froze. He opened his mouth to say something but didn’t know what, so just closed it again.

“Dean, right? You never told me your brother was so hot! I’m guessing it’s got something to do with the Winchester genealogy, huh?”

Sam rubbed his temple with a hand, clearly developing a headache.

“Natalie,” was all he could manage by way of protest.

The eighteen-year old bit back her laughter; God alone knew what she saw in Sammy's face that was making her smirk like that.

“You’ve been keepin’ him a secret. Now I know why.”

“Natalie!”

“I’m just sayin’! And you know technically it wouldn’t be incest because by its traditional definition incest is between a brother and a sister, or a male and female relative, so either way you’re okay.”

Sam didn’t want to listen to her crap anymore. He jumped up, put on his clothes in a hurry as Natalie just sat there, openly giggling. She threw the dildo toward him and reflexively he caught it before it could poke an eye out.

“Don’t forget your gift, lover.”

“Told you I don’t want it.”

“Of course you do, unless you like the idea of doing your brother better, maybe?”

Sam scowled at her, stuffing the damn thing in his backpack if only to avoid further discussions about his brother, and quickly left.

 

***

 

It was too much.

First the wet dreams, then the day dreams. Then came a time when all Sam could think of was Dean… day in and day out. Dean and his lame jokes and contagious laughter, his bright green eyes and strong arms… his worrying for dad and his protectiveness of Sammy. His funny faces, his serious faces… even his blank faces. Sam thought back to a great book he once read and the words that were meant to describe Gatsby but suited Dean so perfectly –

_If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him._

// Not just something, everything. // 

Sam shivered as he felt his cock going hard in his pants, making walking that much more difficult. His thoughts wavered to the one place he so wished they wouldn’t… a deep dark, phantasmic realm in his head where Dean was more than just a brother, hell maybe not a brother at all. The place where Dean was always smiling, and constantly touching him, holding him, kissing him and making…

// Get a grip, you freak! //

Sam kept walking as fast as he could without running, ashamed at himself for even thinking of Dean not being his brother. John Winchester was a man obsessed. He probably would have given Sammy up to Social Services, or maybe dumped him in a trash can somewhere long ago, if it hadn’t been for Dean.

But really, was this creepy, perverted crush of his that obvious?  

If Natalie saw it, who else could? He desperately hoped and prayed his family didn’t figure him out. Dad would be so disappointed in him, like he didn’t have enough reasons to already. He would curse and yell and throw Sam out on the street never to see his face again, or proclaim him ‘demon spawn’ and shoot him in the heart with his .45. Something melodramatic like that.

And Dean?

God.

His big brother would never ever speak to him or even look at him again. Sam didn’t know if he could live with that.

As if they didn’t have enough abnormalities to deal with already. Sam gulped down the huge lump in his throat threatening to rob him of his ability to breathe without sobbing, lowered his head into his jacket collar and just kept walking.

 

***

 

Normal people put a fake face on for the world right before they stepped out of their houses. Sammy put on a face right before he entered his. 

The first thing to hit him as he stepped in and started to pull his jacket off was the stench of alcohol. Of his dad’s whiskey.

But weren’t he and Dean supposed to be in Oregon? His questions were still unanswered when he reached the balcony and found his brother leaning heavily against the iron rails, open ends of his black-and-blue checkered plaid shirt fluttering in the wind, and a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels dangling precariously from his right hand.

“Dean?”

Dean turned toward him, eyes red from lack of sleep and too much whiskey and something dark and morbid that scared Sam a little. But then Dean grinned happily at him and held his arms out for him like Sam was still six.

“Sammy!!”

He didn’t think twice, didn’t much care that Dean was piss drunk at this point. Sam promptly stepped forward until he was close enough for Dean to wrap him into a generous hug. Sam supported his brother’s weight as the older man swayed and pressed his face against his. Concern warred with elation at being able to touch Dean, breathe in his strong masculine scent of musk and sweat and leather and gunpowder. A scent that was uniquely Dean… daunting and magnetic, dangerous and soothing all at the same time. A scent that was rapidly transforming his mind into pigswill, and his throbbing penis to rock hard wood.

"Oh, Sammy," Dean mumbled throatily right into his ear, and it sent shivers down the younger boy's spine.

Sam pulled away then but Dean continued to hold him by the arms, squeezing and rubbing them alternately. He gulped, took the bottle away from Dean and studied the label keenly in an effort to distract himself.

“So how come you’re back so soon? Where’s Dad?”

That seemed to hit a sore nerve and Dean’s hands dropped, face morphing into a deep frown. He snatched the bottle back from Sam and took another gulp of whiskey, then turned away.

“Dad’s found a new hunting partner.”

“What? Are… are you serious?”

“He thinks this gig’s too big for me, so he sent me back.”

Sam bit his lip; couldn’t very well express his relief in front of Dean now, could he? He had to look supportive (of Dean). The twenty-year old took another huge gulp of neat whiskey and didn’t even wince, but Sam did.

“Dude, think you’ve had enough.”

“I can’t believe that bastard. I’ve had his back for years. Years! Then in walks this _ghost buster_ from _Hicksville_ and I get benched. I can’t believe he still doesn’t trust me. After all these years!”

“I, I don’t think it's about trust.”

Dean turned toward him, leaning in close, fury lighting up his face even in the dim light.

“Yeah? Tell me then geek boy. Enlighten me. What is it about?”

Sam swallowed. “Isn’t it obvious? Dad… he doesn’t want to see you hurt.”

Dean laughed. The sound rings loud and unabashedly furious.

“He trains us day and night to hunt supernatural, evil things Sammy. This ain’t exactly a childproof environment he’s created for us here. This has got _everything_ to do with trust.”

Dean faltered and almost lost balance. Sam caught him and tried to lead him back inside.

“Dean, I think you should…”

“He’d rather trust that... that Harvelle than his own son? His own flesh and blood!”

“Yeah. Sucks. Let’s just get you in bed, alright?”

Dean shook his head in utter anguish but let his brother walk him to their bedroom.

“You don’t get it Sammy. I know you hate this life, this shitty… the way we live. But it’s all I know! It’s the only thing I am good at. Really, _really_ good at, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

He pushed Dean down until he was sitting on the bed, went down on one knee so he could pull off his shoes and socks. That’s when he felt his brother’s hand land softly on top of his head.

“It's all I have to give to you, Sammy.”

Sam looked up into the sea-green eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Dean’s face was a mesh of sweat and grime and his eyes glittered in the dark with suspicious moisture.

“Every mission that I stick with Dad is my chance to bring him home safe. To you, Sammy.”

“…”

The hand was heavy but gentle as it stroked his scalp through the unruly hair.

“Every ghost, every demon I help put down… is one thing less out there that’s capable of hurting people. Like you. And… Mom.”

“…”

“For every moment of every single day that she didn’t get to see you grow up. Every moment that you live not remembering her, hell, not even knowing her…”

The hand traveled down to his cheek and Sam leaned into it. It took all he had to pull away from it and reach up to grip Dean’s shoulders. Gently, he lowered his big brother to the pillow and pulled the covers over his supine form.

“Go to sleep, Dean.”

“My Sammy…”

But he didn't finish whatever he started to say, if he intended to say anything at all. Dean was asleep soon enough. 

Sam knelt by the bed watching his brother’s eyelashes resting calmly on those majestic cheekbones. Listening to his deep, regular breathing and fighting the insane urge to lay his own head on the broad chest just so he could listen to his brother’s heart beat.

“Yours, always…” he whispered into the empty air, for an audience of no one.

Sam wanted to remember and cherish these precious few moments forever. Tomorrow Dean will be sober and not remember - or worse - pretend none of this happened, and he'd just have to play along because that was the Winchester way after all. Tonight was all he had as undeniable proof of how much his brother loved him.

Sam lightly fingered the outline of Dean’s lush red lips, biting his own because the temptation was too strong to resist but too goddamn wrong to surrender to. And then Sam leaned in closer until his cold breaths fused with Dean’s hot ones and right and wrong and everything in between, all melted to nothingness. Dean slept on, completely oblivious to guilty fingertips softly caressing his face… to quivering lips suspended bare millimeters away from his… to the solitary tear that ran down his little brother’s face and fell onto his, before Sam jerked away and ran out of the apartment. 

He spent the night outside, crouched right against their door like rock salt, eyes glaring blankly at the empty open road ahead. He was not going to let anything that could hurt his brother in the house that night.

Not even himself.

 

***

 

_**Fargo, North Dakota.  
** **November 1998** _

_************************* _

 

It was their third day in Fargo.

Not that Wyoming had been any more exciting, but Sam didn’t like big urban centers, they made him feel horribly out of place. So yeah, he didn't like the city one bit, and also because, for one - it was freezing as hell… bad simile but it was really cold and Sam really detested being cold. And two because, Dad was gone already, leaving the brothers behind to settle in. They were staying at a motel for now, but Dean was busy hunting for a cheap place to rent because John planned to stick around for at least half a year this time.

Or so he claimed. 

John always said that, recognizing at a rational… parental level, the need for Sam to have a decent education. The ship had sailed long back for Dean, who was happy getting his GED and spending all his time hunting with John.

But inevitably, something would always come up – a fresh spate of unexplained murders or disappearances, and he’d uproot the family all over again. Sam couldn’t blame his father for wanting to save as many people as he could. But he could also not remember a time in his life when he _wasn’t_ a transfer student.

On top of that, his situation with Dean was only getting worse.

It was an ordeal to sit down together for breakfast or lunch or in the car or anything that required close proximity to his brother. Sam enjoyed the trainings for the first time in his life, because they required absolute concentration and took his mind off everything else. An exception of course was the hand-to-hand – with Dean - the man whose mildest of touches of late tantalized every single nerve ending in Sam’s body. The man whose furnace-like body heat was an astounding jolt to his colder constitution every time their limbs collided.

And while hand-to-hand was bad, wrestling? Now that was just a nightmare.

Sam hunted down the local library on day one and started spending as much time reading and researching as possible. Suddenly, he'd grown this fervent need to build a repository of urban supernatural mythology inside his brain. If Dean noticed something out of the ordinary, he sure wasn’t saying anything.

That night after returning from the library, Sam was in the shower brooding, pondering the incongruities of their lives. He wondered how things might have been if Mom hadn’t died the way she did. Sam smiled, thinking of the possibility of a Dean who wasn’t a rogue demon hunter but a scholar… _hah_. Okay maybe not. Maybe a sexy quarterback, or captain of the basketball team, with a full-ride scholarship to Duke’s…

“Sam! I can’t find the freakin’ whetstone!”

Sam rolled his eyes and yelled back through the watery torrent surrounding him.

“How’s that my problem?”

“You better pray you didn’t forget to pack it or I’ll make it your problem, zit-face!”

“Bite me!”

Of course he packed it. Dean was often forgetting the smaller stuff and Sam had by now gotten used to doing final checks before they left every place for good.

He was washing off the shampoo from his hair when it struck him.

// Oh fuck. //

In his panicked haste, he almost slipped and just about managed to wrap a towel round his waist and rushed out. But it was too late. 

Dean was already rummaging through Sam's duffel bag, having guessed correctly that that's where his precious whetstone would be. And suddenly his back stiffened.

Sam knew the instant it happened.

Dean turned to face him with an incredulous look on his face, and the pink dildo dangling loosely between two fingers.

“What. The. Hell??”

Sam swallowed. “It's a joke! My… f-friend gave it to me as a joke.”

He forced out a brief, embarrassed smile, his eyes darting toward the obscenity and away just as quickly. A good five seconds passed in utter silence, and then it was broken, as always, by a chortle.

“Dude!!”

Sam ground his teeth and tried again. “It's not mine!”

Dean pretended to study the thing real closely. No way in the world could anyone miss the engraving from that distance.

“ _Sure_ , I believe you Sammy.”

The mirth was clearly evident in Dean’s voice. Sam was miserable, he felt exposed, ousted… appalled that a part of his dirty secret had been revealed, and Dean thought it was funny.

Dean was laughing at him.

Without another word, Sam ran back to the bathroom and locked himself in; the door slammed so hard the foundations of the motel shook. A short flurry of tears fell down his cheeks but he didn’t let any sound escape his mouth. He wasn’t sure why he was so angry or even who it was directed at. Natalie for ruining his life? Dean for being the object of his futile obsession? Or maybe himself… for being such a perverted little bastard?

“Sam, come on out.”

Dean had no idea of the storm gathering inside his little brother and must have obviously bought into the whole joke theory.

“Some friends you got, kiddo. Kink’s getting younger by the day, huh?”

Another quick chuckle could be heard from outside the bathroom and it just made Sam’s heart clench harder.

How could he think he would ever find any sort of acceptance or understanding (forget love) from Dean? He was always such a sarcastic jackass about everything, how could he _possibly_ understand?

And damn it, why the hell did he not throw the stupid thing away?

“You know, it's okay really. Survey shows eight in every ten males fantasize about their lady-loves sporting twelve inch strap-ons.”

Sam frowned. “Really?”

“NO!!!”

Dean guffawed so loud Sam had to wince, partly pissed at himself for falling for that and partly in humiliation.

Dean thumped on the door, twice.

“C’mon kiddo. You know I’m never gonna let this go. Doesn’t mean you get to migrate to the bathroom permanently!”

// Why the hell not? //

Sam wiped away his tears. He was just going to have to play along, pretend this was not hurting him. Why should it? It was nothing but a joke; it had nothing to do with his secret unrequited love for his own brother.

Nothing whatsoever.

Sam opened the door and walked past his still smirking brother, his spine rigid and face like stone. The only thing he could lord over his big brother with was his height. At six-one he had finally caught up with Dean, and was still growing. Taking full advantage of that he looked into his brother’s eyes as he crossed him, challenging him to make another jibe, and Dean didn’t disappoint.

“So you’re gonna be playing both sides of the fence now?”

Ugh. So much for composure.

“Fuck off!”

Dean sniggered. Sam dug out some clothes and went back to change in the bathroom.

“And what’s with the new modesty? I should be afraid of takin’ my clothes off around you dude, not you!!”

And the loud, unrestrained laughter again. Sam closed his eyes and bit into his lower lip viciously until it bled.

// Yeah. You should be afraid, brother. You should be. //

 

***


	5. Chapter 5

_**Fargo, North Dakota.  
** _ _**November 1998** _

_*******************************_

 

 

Sam couldn’t escape the motel room fast enough.

Soon as Dean wandered off (having tired himself of bantering with a closed bathroom door) to work on his beloved Impala, Sam pulled on his warmest jacket and boots and stepped out. There’d been hailstorms and sleet pouring down for the past three days, and the sun hadn’t been out all week. He shivered, not just from the cold, remembering how he’d run into Dean at the door. Expectedly, his big brother had not been happy to see him stalking out. 

“It's getting dark, Sammy, I don’t want you out there alone.”

“Does it look like I give a shit what you want?”

He pretended not to have seen the shock on Dean's face at his uncannily sharp words, then slammed the door behind him and left.

 

*** 

 

He’d been walking for God knows how long, completely lost in his morbid thoughts. He sure was getting good at this brooding thing. When at last he stopped to catch his breath, Sam looked up and found himself in the seedier part of town. Houses were old and run down, most of the street lamps didn't work, and looked like trash hadn't been picked up in weeks. A couple of burnt car wrecks decorated one side of the road and the other was lined at regular frequencies by… um, people who looked like... prostitutes.

Some of them were so skimpily dressed, Sam wondered how they weren’t hypothermic already. Couple of girls not older than Sam himself, hell might even be younger, stared right at him. Sam felt awkward, suddenly wishing he'd listened to Dean and stayed in. He turned about, eager to get out of the place before he got accosted. Not that he couldn't take care of himself - John Winchester's marine training had seen to that - but surely he could use a little _less_ trouble in his angst-ridden teenage life.

He’d been walking for about five minutes back towards the motel, when a slight, sudden movement to the left caught his eye. At first glance, it was just some random guy, standing against some random wall smoking a cigarette. Sam looked away, only to turn back two seconds later and look again. The man stood mostly hidden in the shadows. Nothing but a dim yellow light from a shop window nearby softly embellished his face.

Sam stared hard, slowing down without intent until he came to a full halt about ten feet away.

The man looked young; well, older than Sam, of course, but young-ish overall… closer to Dean’s age maybe. He had on a pair of battered blue jeans, black boots that’d obviously seen better days, and a well-worn black leather jacket open in the front. Beneath the jacket was a black vest that looked… netted? And the man was staring right back at Sam.

The fact that he was a hooker, didn’t faze the fifteen- going on sixteen-year old in the least. What  _did_ , however, was the fact that the guy bore… an uncanny resemblance to…

// Oh God. I’m  _fucking_ losing my mind. //

“Somethin’ you want, kid?”

The man drawled, a soft daring smirk playing on the chiseled face. Sam swallowed, shook his head but his feet didn’t move on like he willed them to. Maybe add a little more muscle and weight… and two or three inches, take away some of those sharp angles that were clearly the result of malnutrition, and maybe with fuller lips and darker, shorter hair… damn this guy would look so much like…

“Sammy!”

Sam started, and whipped around toward the source of the sound. The unmistakable Chevy pulled up right next to him and Dean’s head poked out of the driver's window. He looked downright murderous.

“Get in,” he growled.

For a second, Sam managed to ignore him, turning back to look at the other man in the shadows but he was long gone. The sidewalk glared back at him emptily, almost like he was never there. Like he'd been hallucinating, fantasizing maybe...

// Not good. //

Frowning, he finally got his feet to obey his mental commands and got into the car.

“Dude what the hell? You cannot take off like this without letting me know where you at, you got that?”

Sam looked at his brother, once again scrutinizing those ridiculously perfect features and wondering if his madness had proceeded to the next level where he was now seeing things that weren’t there. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder slightly shaking him.

“Sammy, you okay?”

Sam blinked twice. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

He couldn’t look into his brother’s eyes any longer so he turned away, willing his heart to fucking slow down already. Dean didn’t press the issue, and wisely didn’t ride him about being AWOL anymore either.

 

***

 

Dean drove them out of there and closer to their motel, which wasn’t exactly the best area of the city. But it had this halfway decent bar and diner called Darcy’s which was good enough to fulfill their basic needs. 

In here, Sam could easily use his fake ID to get a beer and no one would give a damn that physically he looked nowhere near twenty-two years old, but he passed. Dean ordered a steak with fries. Sam swapped his fries for a small salad which Dean made fun of, as usual, and went to town with his infamous Winchester appetite. Through it all, Dean kept up a steady stream of nonsense while Sam just… sulked. A vague memory faintly needled away at the back of his mind and if he just had the energy and inclination to probe it a little more, he would understand (remember) why his brother couldn’t quite stop rambling.

After a while though, Dean paused and took a huge gulp of his beer, not once taking his eyes off the boy across the table.

“So what’s up, Sammy?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “It's  _Sam_.”

Dean studied him for a second, then cleared his throat and leaned in closer.

“Look, I’m sorry I made fun of you, uh, earlier. Bet you got enough of that from… your  _friend_  with that…  _prank gift_ , huh?”

Sam didn’t look up from his soda, not ready to meet his big brother's eyes just yet.

"So... Natalie, huh?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yes, _that_ Natalie."

Dean smirked, his patented smartass _Dean_ smirk. “All this time in Arkansas, you were boning the _head cheerleader,_ and I didn’t know? Dude that’s sneaky… and impressive.”

Sam rolled his eyes, trust Dean to find a way to compliment  _and_  embarrass him all at the same time.

“I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

Sam wasn’t flattered in the least. He took a final swig from his soda and frowned deeply.

“Can we just forget it, please?”

Dean smiled a little hesitantly. “Okay. But… ahem, I just wanted you to know that…”

Sam looked up at him at that.

“Sammy... it's okay if you’re… ah, experimenting with… you know… stuff.”

Sam glared. So Dean sighed and tried again.

“Look. All I’m trying to say is… if you, eventually  _do_  decide to… go uhh… gay…”

“Jesus!”

Sam wanted to get up and leave but Dean held his hand on the table, and wouldn’t let him.

“Dude I’m trying to tell you I’m cool, alright? No matter what, I’m cool with it. That’s all I’m sayin’. Okay?”

Sam didn’t respond, very confused by this turn of events. Why did Dean all of a sudden feel the need to show support and solidarity for his geeky little brother? And how could he  _possibly_ be cool if he knew how _sick_ his little brother really was?

 

All this brooding had led Sam to be pretty darn sure of at least one thing - He was not into guys.

_Only Dean._

Nobody else, not even the girls anymore.

All Sam wanted was his big brother.

Hell, he’d probably always loved Dean and wanted to be with him long before he even knew what it truly meant to 'be with' someone - before he knew what it was to be sexually active. Looking back on the years… it all started to fall in place, like a jigsaw puzzle inside his head. The first stirrings of rejection when Dean starting seeing Esmeralda were fortunately suppressed when Sam discovered the opposite sex himself. But did it ever really go away?

Funny thing this concept of 'family', Sam mused. For most all needs of life – material, social, emotional or physical, you’re permitted and in fact expected to look to each other for fulfillment and support. Everything that is, except sex. Now that you gotta look for  _outside_  the family. Why?

// I love my brother. I’d die for him. If that’s not enough to be allowed to touch him… what is? //

And it wasn’t like he wanted to take advantage of Dean.

// Hell if anything, it was the other way round! //

And why did this logic make so much sense in his head? How was it fucking normal? Maybe it was because of their dysfunctional way of life… this  _subsisting_  on the outskirts of humanity where they mingled with the dead a lot more than the living. 

Sam had never made any friends he could trust as much as Dean, no one he could be as close to as he was to Dean. Not even Penny, his very first girlfriend and he still remembered how he’d moped for weeks after moving out of Humboldt Bay. Dean had tried mocking him, then he'd tried distracting him, and finally even consoling him (with actual words). Still, Sam had not been himself for the longest time. 

He'd often wondered how Dean did it, and if Dean had ever felt a sentiment called love for any girl at all.

_“What can I say, Sammy…"_ Dean had joked when Sam asked him that question last year. _"You are the love of my life. And you’re very demanding.”_

_“I’m also very jealous.”_

_“That too.”_

Sam smiled at the vivid memory of that goofy little conversation. He would give anything… fuck he’d give his everything… if he could just hear Dean say those words to him again. And  _mean_ them.

Yep.  _Sick_ alright.

 

“Can I get you guys anything else?”

The not-conversation was interrupted by a cute waitress in a dangerously low-cut blouse. It came as no surprise to Sam that Dean’s train of thought was instantly derailed.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind another beer, Miss…?”

The waitress smiled. “Allison. You can call me Allie.”

Dean smiled back, widely. “Allie. What a  _mesmerizing_  name.”

Sam averted his eyes, and pretended this wasn’t breaking his heart. The flirting went on for about another minute before plans were made for later that night. Finally Allie left and Sam couldn’t help but scowl at his brother. Dean grinned impishly.

“What?”

“I thought you were going out with Cindy from the Laundromat.”

Dean shook his head at him condescendingly. 

“Sammy, Sammy... there are so many fish in the vast ocean of life! No reason to stick to salmon forever.”

Sam made his 'I can't believe we're related' face. “You’re a pig.”

Dean grinned. “Noooo, I’m a stud.”

Sam just palmed his face, giving up. “Must be animal kingdom references day.”

Dean chuckled and turned his attention to Allie as she came back with the beer.

Sam turned away, glad they got a table by the window. The duo seemed seconds away from ripping each other’s clothes off. Already there was ample under-the-table groping in progress and saccharine-flavored falsities being exchanged at the speed of light. Sam bit his lip, swallowing the hot surge of anger and mind-numbing envy before it made him throw up. 

Preferably all over Miss Allison’s pasty little face.

 

***

  
That night Sam dreamt of Dean again.

The sun was out, thank God, and glorious brightness and warmth filled up their old house back in Sacramento that had these giant-sized windows in every outer wall. It started pretty innocently with one of their sparring sessions. Dean was always dead serious about training and never cut his little brother any slack. When they were younger he used to let Sammy win now and then. But now that he was older and accompanying them on real missions, Dean couldn’t afford to be lenient.

Of course, Sam was also getting better every day. He could hold his own long enough and unlike Dad, Dean was never miserly with praise, letting Sam know precisely how well he was doing. After the thirty minutes of serious sparring were up, they’d automatically switch to playful mode, wrestling each other to the ground and having a good laugh about it. It was the wrestling that Sam had come to fear and resist in his waking moments but right now… in this dream, there was nothing he wanted more than to be close to Dean. Touch Dean, cherish every inch of his gorgeously freckled and tanned skin under Sam's fingers… hold on to Dean with all his might, like a man drowning...

Somewhat miraculously, Sam succeeded in pinning Dean to the floor and hooted in his small victory. Sam perched on top of his big brother, straddling the broad torso with his knees digging into Dean’s sides on the floor… hands holding down hands on either side of Dean’s head. Dean grunted loudly in a mock attempt to push Sam off him, but Sam just laughed and easily held him down. 

“You need a haircut, kiddo.”

Sam smiled, shaking his head so his bangs curtained his face and hung low enough to tickle Dean in the face. Dean whined and stretched to get away from the silken hair and Sam chuckled, just lowering himself further and did it again.

“Oh you wanna play, huh?”

Next thing he knew, Dean had flipped them over in one swift move until Sam lay on his back and Dean hovered over him with that captivating grin on his face. Then Dean was licking Sam’s face and neck, nipping and nuzzling everywhere, making Sam laugh and squirm, trying half-heartedly to escape the deliciously torturous sensation.

“Okay, okay! I give.”

Sam was actually giggling by the time Dean relented and that’s when he felt it. He panted, his heart raced and his mouth fell open as he realized he was rock hard… and he wasn’t the only one.

When he spoke his voice was nothing more than a breathless rasp.

“Dean…?”

“Shhh Sammy, it's okay. Let me take care of you.”

Sam arched up just as Dean leaned in, until lips met lips and the world imploded in Sam’s eyes.

Hands were everywhere… and Sam wondered how many arms this dream-Dean had, or maybe how many Deans he was dreaming of. Suddenly, and in dreamscapes things were always this sudden so no surprise there, Sam was naked and so was Dean. The real Dean never bothered to lock the door when he showered, so Sam had no trouble picturing him in the nude. The kiss went on, frantic and urgent as tongues clashed with passion repressed for centuries. Dean held Sam’s face in two hands and tilted his jaw upwards into his mouth until Sam’s neck was craned almost painfully. At last, Dean pulled away and looked into Sam’s eyes with a request he couldn’t possibly refuse.

Wordlessly he nodded his consent and let the older boy kiss his way down his neck and to his chest. Wetness engulfed one teensy red nipple and worried it until it was hard as a pebble. Sam’s lips fell open to let loose a moan as Dean switched to his other nipple while twisting the first one between two deft fingers. Twisted and rubbed and worried some more until Sam could no longer think straight.

 // Oh God. Dean… Dean… //

Hands mapped every rib, every developing muscle visible on his slender frame, and lips laved and kissed the depression in his abs. When Dean tongued his navel, Sam couldn’t help but whimper, his legs falling apart in a subconscious invitation for Dean to use his tongue in other places as well.

// Dean. Dean. Dean. //

That’s all he could think of, his brother’s name rolling off his tongue over and over again, revered and sacred like rosary in his hands folded in prayer. And pray he did… for release… for forgiveness, for absolution… for mercy.

“No… Dean… don't… stop.”

// Don't ever stop, keep going, no… too much, ah… stop. God… even in a dream I can't fucking make up my mind! //

Either way, dream-Dean was too far gone to listen ( _thank God!_ ) He crouched between Sam’s open legs and planted kisses on both his inner thighs, heading downwards until he reached the rock-hard erection. Quivering, weeping and aching for attention.

Sam threw his head hard against the floor, trying to once again muster up the courage to resist this… this reluctant pleasure. And then he was engulfed into unspeakable sin… unquenchable thirst, wetness and heat… trapped by hands holding his hips down until there was nowhere left to go… nothing left to do but thrust up, right into the mouth of his undoing.

In the dark, Sam writhed uncontrollably… limbs flailing in all directions and covers relegated to the floor. He moaned as he came, gasping for air desperately as he finally broke free of the dream’s hold on his body, mind and soul. Exhausted and overwhelmed, Sam fell into a deep sleep, uninterrupted until the next morning when Dean shook him awake.

“Wake up Sammy, enough beauty sleep for today.”

Sam opened his eyes, peeping from over the top of his covers at the dull, dark morning through the window. No sun again. He ought to go back to sleep for that reason alone, and rolled over with intent to do exactly so. That’s when he became conscious of the dried stickiness on his stomach. Hell, both his t-shirt and pajama bottoms were glued to his body.

// Fuck. Great. //

It all came rushing back to him and a hot red blush crept right up his body till it reached the roots of the hair on his head. The memory itself was enough to stir up his partially erect member all over again.

“Now, Sammy!!”

He groaned. “Yeah… I’m up, I’m up…”

// In ways more than one. //

He sat up and checked the bedding and blanket in mild panic, like a girl on the second day of her period waking up in the morning. Everything else seemed to have escaped but he needed to go take a shower now. A  _cold_ one.

By the time he was dressed, Sam still had not been able to get over it. The blush didn’t seem to go away either and he was scared Dean would easily decode what was going on in his mind. So instead of sitting down for breakfast Sam picked up his satchel and jacket and rushed to the door.

“Hey, breakfast? I ordered pancakes.”

“Uhh, no. Not hungry.”

“Where you going?”

“L-library.”

“Sam…”

That was the stop-right-there-right-now version. Sam winced and did stop, but he couldn't turn to face Dean.

“What’s going on? Talk to me, please.”

Tears filled up his eyes and he bit his lip hard.

The Winchesters never talked. They let things sort themselves out on their own. Which mostly meant pretending nothing was wrong in the first place. Dean must clearly be worried, a _lot_ , to be resorting to this. But Goddamnit… Sam couldn’t.

He just couldn’t. 

“I have to go.”

He walked out then, feeling his brother’s wary eyes follow him all the way to the parking lot and beyond.

 

***


	6. Chapter 6

_**Fargo, North Dakota.  
**_ _**November 1998** _

_*******************************_  

Two days and two nights passed in a funk that refused to leave him.

Sam wished he could start school already so he’d have a legitimate reason to be away from his brother for at least part of the day. Or maybe Dad could call Dean away to help him on his latest hunt, but that was not going to happen either. For some reason known only to John Winchester, Sammy was never left alone for more than say, half a day. When he was younger they’d find Bobby or Caleb or Pastor Jim to watch him. Now at fifteen, since Sam made it amply clear to the old man how much he found the idea of being  _babysat_ so utterly preposterous… Dean did it. 

It was dark by the time Sam walked back from the library to their motel. He tried his key but the door wouldn’t open. So he knocked.

“Hey Dean, you in there?”

When he heard voices inside, he got agitated that Dean had locked the door on him. Damn it, he lived there too. He thumped the door thrice, hard.

“Just a minute!”

Dean called out from inside and a whole minute later when the door opened, Dean stood barring the entrance. He was shirtless and had the bedspread wrapped around his waist.

“What the…”

But Sam didn't need to finish the question. He swallowed hard as Dean grinned at him and licked his plump red (redder than usual) lips.

He had a girl inside, in their room.

Dean was fucking some girl. In  _their_  room.

“Dude, it's only six. What you doing back so early?”

“What am _I_ doing? What are  _you_  doing, Dean? If Dad finds out you’ve been bringing strangers back to the room…”

“It's just a girl from the bar, Sammy, you remember Allie, don’t you? Go on scram for another hour or so, okay?”

Sam was furious. “What am I supposed to do for another hour?”

Dean huffed at him and disappeared, slamming the door in Sam’s face.

“DEAN!!”

The door opened again and the older brother’s hand stuck out from the narrow opening.

“Here’s a twenty. Go grab dinner or a movie or somethin’. Don’t wanna see your face here before nineteen hundred, you hear me? And don’t you dare tell Dad!”

And that was it.

Sam just stood there, staring at the closed door, willing himself not to dissolve into tears.

He looked about himself, first left then right. The fact that there was no audience didn’t make him feel any better. Gripping the money in his fist, he turned and started walking… rapidly gaining pace until he was running through the streets wet with sleet. He ran as hard as his legs would carry him, until at last the burning in his entire body forced him to halt.

Chest heaving, mouth hanging open and panting, he looked around and once again found himself in the red light district.

Sam swallowed. He looked at the twenty in his hand and steeling his heart and eyes, walked on.

 

***

 

The hooker was standing exactly where he’d been two days ago, dressed nearly the same way except the netted vest was replaced with a bright purple, skin-tight tee shirt. That probably was his designated post or corner or whatever it was called in prostitute-speak. If he noticed Sam approaching, he did not let on. Sam paused about five feet away, still not sure what he was doing here, but unable to stop himself either.

“H-Hi.”

The man looked at Sam then, checking him out from head to toe in a way that sent an icy shiver down Sam’s spine. He was shorter than Sam by like two inches or so; lean and thin but obviously bulkier than the teenager before him. And he had a couple days-old scruff that made him look rougher around the edges but overall he looked… um,  _clean_  enough.

He threw what looked like a cigarette stub away (though he wasn't smoking) and put his hands in his jacket pockets.

“What’s it gonna be?”

Sam’s heart raced. “I… I have a twenty.”

The man’s shapely red lips curled up ever so slightly before he nodded Sam over to the side. The teenager quietly fell in step and followed the hooker down into a deserted alley.

Sam Winchester wasn’t afraid of the dark anymore, and he knew how to throw a mean punch so he really wasn’t bothered by the ominous setting at all. When they reached the farthest corner, the man staked out the spot in one swift scan then turned to face Sam.

“One blow job and I don’t swallow.”

Sam mutely agreed, handing over the twenty and then without warning, he was pushed into the wall behind. Before he could change his mind and before his long-honed defensive reflexes could kick in, the hooker’s hands were on his zipper, expertly baring him like he’d done it a thousand times before. Sam threw his head back against the wall, not sure what to do with his hands so just let them grip the wall on his sides as well. The professional kicked the inside of his right leg to make Sam spread his gangly legs, and then went down on his knees.

// Oh God. What am I doing? Oh God. //

Two cold hands pulled his flaccid organ out of its covering. Sam bit his lip, regretting this already. Dean’s hands were never cold…

One hand started to massage his balls and Sam gasped. Cold, but  _man_ that felt good. The other hand was precise but hurried as it made a firm grip around the base of his shaft, generously pumping downwards before moving back up to the base in the same tight circle. Then he did it again, and again, and again. A feeling of slow-burning stimulation gradually spread through Sam's lower body, until his legs were twitching wildly and his breathing lost its rhythm.

“What… what’s your name?”

The man paused… then looked up slowly, a surprised amusement evident in his eyes. “Drew.”

And then he went to work, closing his mouth around Sam’s shaft with practiced ease. Sam gasped, the melting buttery heat of Drew’s mouth sharply contrasting the calloused fingers still playing with his scrotum. The skilled tongue wiggled all across the underside as the head bobbed up and down over his entire length. Reaching the tip, Drew took a second to suck and tease the swelling head hard before swallowing whole all over again.

After about a minute, though he was in no condition to fully comprehend the concept of time right then, Sam could no longer hold his moans and curses and closed his eyes against the swiftly mounting pressure constricting his breathing all the way down to his gut. Without intent he started to thrust in and out of the mouth and the hooker let him. He let his head fall back against the wall and gasped soundlessly, enjoying the brief reprieve in which his mind went completely blank... and quiet, for once.

Sam didn’t last long after that. His back arched, a torrent of pleasure and pain rising from the core of his spine and ejecting out through his incredibly hard member. Sam came with a silent scream amid rapid and violent shudders, his eyes wide with the intensity of it all, and then he collapsed.

It wasn't the first blowjob of his life, Natalie had used him to practice and hone her own skills a dozen times over. Sam smirked thinking of how far, _far_  she still had to go.

Drew held the boy up by his hips as he slowly rose to his feet. When Sam finally found his legs, he noticed the other man wiping at his face and dusting the wet grime off his knees. As his eyes traveled upwards, he also noticed the slight bulge in the thin jeans and blurted out the first thing that popped in his head.

“What about you?”

The hooker started, then almost snorted, his eyes twinkling as he studied his young and clearly inexperienced customer. A few seconds passed before he answered. “I can if you want me to…”

Sam was beginning to figure out how this worked. The prostitute would probably charge him extra for jerking off if he said yes, so he just kept quiet, pretending to struggle to catch his breath.

Drew licked his lips.

“Turn around.”

Sam panicked. “What? No… no, no I don't…”

Drew did laugh then, hands reaching out and massaging the trembling hips with a gentleness that wasn’t there before.

“I’m not gonna fuck you. That’ll cost a lot more than a twenty, kid. But if you want, I could do something else for ya.”

“…”

He then huffed quietly. “For free.”

Sam’s eyes darted here and there, wondering how he could get out of this as soon as possible. But the man wasn’t letting go.

“Just turn, okay? If you don’t like it, tell me to stop and I will.”

Numb and slightly curious, Sam did what he was told. Turning his back to a complete stranger - John Winchester would be so ashamed, not to mention disgusted.

Drew pressed him against the wall again, and lowered the boy’s jeans and boxers till they were at his knees.

“I-I changed my mind…”

“I haven’t even started. Shh… it's okay. It's okay.”

Sam closed his eyes, God, those words…

Dean’s words.

Behind him Drew took out his own rapidly hardening shaft, and pushed it between Sam’s spread thighs. Sam jerked in response, not sure what to expect and looking for an escape. Truth be told, he could have escaped long ago if he _truly_   wanted to. 

“Drew…”

“Close your legs.”

Sam obeyed, the feel of a hard shaft rubbing up against his crack and between his thighs was so new and so…  _Hot_. He felt his own erection come back to life. And then it got better when Drew started pushing in and pulling out. The delicious friction teasing his perineum and the periphery of his anus chased all thoughts of escape away and Sam surrendered all over again. A hand came around and closed over his cock.

“Ohhh.  _Fuck_ …”

This would definitely cost him extra, Sam thought vaguely, but didn’t do or say anything because that hand beating him off was the closest thing to heavenly bliss he’d ever known.

They stayed like that for several minutes, Drew humping back and forth up against Sam’s ass while at the same time stroking the boy's shaft. Sam whimpered as another orgasm rolled out of him and he fell back bonelessly against the warm body behind him. He felt the other man’s ejaculate spraying the wall from between his thighs and Drew didn’t even make a sound.

Eventually the older man pulled away and zipped himself up leaving Sam to dress himself and turn back around. Drew smiled at him.

“I like you kid.”

Sam swallowed, not liking where this might possibly be going but Drew just smirked.

“But you better be careful in these parts. Kid like you could attract the wrong kind of attention. Wolves in sheep’s hides if you know what I mean.”

“…”

Sam Winchester didn’t scare easy, but Drew spoke like he meant it, and if nothing else he deserved credit for his good intentions. 

“Let me know when you’re ready for more. Here’s my number.”

Or... maybe he was just an excellent salesman. 

He dug out a… business card? And Sam tentatively accepted. Drew dug his hands into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette.

“I’ll even give you a discount.”

He lit up and sent a parting smile Sam’s way. “Leave after a couple of minutes, okay.”

Then he was gone. And just like that, the ground of reality rose up and smacked Sam right in the face. 

He slid down to a crouch just inches off the dubiously wet ground, and curled up over himself as if attempting to disappear or better yet… cease to exist. He blinked back a couple of stray tears but didn’t allow himself any further release. Moments passed before he thought to glance at his watch.

Damn. Still twenty minutes to go. 

Sam pulled his hoodie up over his head, bit down on his severely chapped lower lip, then started walking back.

 

***

 

When Sam reached the motel, he could see from a distance that their room’s door was slightly ajar. Relieved, he headed toward it. He was desperate to get into the shower, wash away all physical remnants of what he’d just done. He felt… dirty… somehow tainted, and for some reason he didn’t want Dean to see him like this.

// Really? Then why the fuck did I do it? //

As Sam entered the room, the first thing he saw was Allie, sitting on his bed, pulling up her knee-length leather boots. Her lipstick was smudged and her long blonde hair stood up in three hundred different directions, but Sam had to admit she kinda rocked the 'just laid' look. Very unlike himself. He couldn't wait to find refuge in the bathroom and never surface again.

But why the fuck was she on _his_ bed?

Allie looked up at him and smiled mischievously. “Oh hello, Sammy.”

He practically growled at her. “It's Sam.”

Dean came out of the bathroom dressed in a black shirt and faded jeans, obviously planning to go out again.

“Hey Sammy, did you eat? Wanna grab some dinner?”

Sam bit back another caustic response. How could a smart hunter like Dean be so completely oblivious? How could he act like everything was okay when his own little brother,  one he practically raised himself, was crumbling to pieces inside? In that moment, he blamed Dean for ruining his life, for screwing his head up so bad he couldn’t function and even for driving him to the arms of a prostitute.

Yes, it was all Dean’s fault.

// I thought he cared. But he doesn’t. He fucking doesn’t. //

He didn’t even turn to look at Dean and instead headed toward his duffel bag.

“No thanks.”

Allie stretched out leisurely on Sam’s bed and whined. “I don’t think Sammy likes me, Deano.”

// Jesus! How can you even stand her Dean? //

“Get off my bed. And get out of my room.”

“Sam!”

Sam didn’t regret his little outburst and turned to face off with his brother. Dean was frowning in confusion, not sure what just happened.

“What’s gotten into you?”

Allie got up and came to stand by Dean. “It's okay,  _Deano_ … let’s go. I think it's past Sammy’s bedtime anyway.”

Sam scowled at her but addressed Dean. “Wow. Dean, you did it. You finally managed to pick the dumbest of ‘em all.”

“Why you little…”

“Allie.” A short, terse remark was enough to shut her up.

Dean pursed his lips and frowned hard at his brother, like when he was losing it and trying very hard not to clock him in the face. Abruptly, he turned away and to Allie.

“I’m sorry for his behavior, Allie. He’s probably just upset he missed tonight’s Baywatch or something.”

Sam snorted behind him and Dean asked the girl to wait in the car. When Allie was safely out of the door, he turned to Sam.

“What the hell is your problem?”

Sam just held his tongue and concentrated on digging out fresh clothes to wear from his bag. His anger had not abated by any standards but he was afraid of what he might let spill if he opened his mouth. He didn’t notice Dean stride closer to him and take his elbow roughly with the intention to turn him back to face each other.

“Sam…”

The boy reacted as if he’d been stunned with a tazer, yanking his arm away and taking two steps back.

“Don’t touch me!”

Immediately he realized he’d let his guard down and given up more than he should have. Dean was shocked to say the least, not knowing what he’d done so wrong that his little brother couldn’t even stand the touch of him. Exhaling heavily, he held his palms up in resignation and took a step back, his voice softer than usual.

“Dude… just chill, okay?”

Sam swallowed a little guiltily, and shuffled his feet. “I’m sorry. I… overreacted.”

And then quickly he turned toward the bathroom.

“Sammy, wait…”

But he didn’t listen. Sam locked himself in and started the shower. He hoped the noise of the water would be loud enough to drown out the sound of his fist cracking against the farthest wall, thrice.

 

***

 

Almost an hour later, Sam turned off the shower… mostly because all the hot water was gone, and came out wearing a grey t-shirt and white boxers. He did not expect to see Dean waiting for him in the room. Hell, he didn’t expect him to come back that night at all.

Dean sat on his bed in his usual posture… feet set apart on the carpeted floor, elbows resting on his knees and hands interlinked with each other. His face had an unreadable expression that Sam tried his best to ignore as he made it to his own bed. Quickly he got under the covers, feeling somewhat exposed despite his clothes. He lay down on his stomach with his face turned away from where his brother sat.

Dean sighed, stood up and came around to sit beside Sam on his bed where they could see each other's faces. 

Sam still kept his eyes averted… dull and emotionless.

“I dropped her off and came right back.”

Sam didn’t respond, surprised that Dean was actually explaining himself.

“You were right. I  _hate_  it when she calls me Deano.”

Dean grinned sheepishly, hoping to coax an equivalent response out of his little brother. Sam’s rage had abated somewhat while he cleaned himself in the shower. He had decided then to try and be mature about this whole crush thing ( _That’s right, it's just a stupid crush_ ) and not throw any more tantrums that might lead to further suspicion. So he smiled stiffly in response to Dean's feeble attempts at conversation.

Still, when Dean raised a hand toward him, his first instinct was to flinch… but he controlled himself. This was Dean, his big brother Dean.

Dean waited to gauge Sam’s reaction, then tentatively put his hand in Sam’s hair and caressed lightly.

“This one time she looked out the window, saw the line of salt on the sill and said – oh look, it’s snowing!”

The last part was said in a girly high-pitched voice. Dean snickered, and Sam couldn’t stop himself either. His brother always managed to make him smile no matter what, it was one of the things that made Dean  _Dean_ … one of the reasons why he was so in love with…

// Stop it! Stop it! //

Sam averted his eyes again and Dean noticed. “I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong, Sammy.”

Sam shrugged. “Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t like her.”

“There’s more to it.”

It wasn’t a question. Sam just shook his head in denial and tried to end the conversation.

“Dean, I’m really tired.”

Dean’s hand in his hair stilled and then withdrew completely.

“Okay. Sleep tight.”

 

***

 

Dad called the next morning.

He needed some research done pronto on how to get rid of a bunch of banshees in the Sioux Falls area. Now despite his whining and bitching about wanting to have a life, research was something Sam could really get into, and Dean knew it.

“Lock and load, sonny.”

Dean was damn near bursting with excitement about working a new job and Sam just laughed. They grabbed coffees and a couple of blueberry muffins for breakfast, then headed for the library. The older brother took to the swanky new computers leaving the younger one to go after the traditional sources - books.

“I wish we could get us one of these desktops and like maybe hook it up to a dial-up at home.”

Sam raised a cynical eyebrow. “Home? _”_

Motels. Rented houses or apartments, sure. Home? Never. 

Dean made his ‘don’t make me explain myself so early in the morning’ face and muttered absentmindedly.

“You know what I mean. But it's gotta be a lot more portable than  _this_  for us to carry around in the Chevy.”

Sam nodded, not looking away from the three books he was simultaneously perusing.

“Give it a year. Laptops will start comin’ off the assembly lines. Then we’ll be able to afford one.”

Dean looked up and grinned at him. “My brother the futurist.”

Sam chuckled, a humble warmth spreading within him at Dean’s cheerful words. By noon the cloud that had settled between the two brothers dissipated almost completely and they were back to their usual bantering, like nothing had ever been wrong. Almost, but not quite.

Sam was still a little withdrawn, wary maybe. And he knew Dean sensed it just as much and was trying so very hard with his constant rambling and timid pranks and stuff. But then he had no idea how much his company both calmed _and_ scared his little brother at the same time. The day passed pretty uneventfully and so did the next… almost.

 

***

 

At six PM sharp the next evening, just as they were walking into a diner, Dean’s shiny new cell phone rang.

“Hey handsome!”

Dean took his time placing the voice of the woman. Sam just shook his head in exasperation, and also amusement at how so few of these girls actually ever meant anything to his twenty-year old, slut of a brother.

“Cindy! How’re you doin’ baby?”

Amusing how Sam recognized his brother’s fake voice so distinctly from his real one. Right now the fake was on full blast. Sam spotted an open booth and slid in, eager to  _not_  have to hear any part of the conversation. Dean hung back by the door for privacy, or to avoid running into Allie maybe. Sam couldn’t help but fume and glare though, but he made sure Dean didn’t see it.

// Get a grip Winchester. He’s your brother. He deserves to be happy. //

If dating these  _skanks_  made him happy then so be it. And it never bothered Sam before… when he wasn’t so hopelessly in love with Dean himself. Sam hunched over the table and tried to read the menu but nothing registered.

// It's not love. It's just a stupid crush. //

Yeah, that’s what he told himself over and over.

// Then why did it hurt so damn much? //

Dean slid into the booth opposite him. Looked like he wanted to say something, so Sam said it for him.

“You got a  _hot_  date.”

Dean looked into his eyes, almost as if… asking permission? Sam just about managed a scowl.

“Just… don’t bring her back to our room.”

Dean crossed his heart, silently mouthing the words ‘I won't’.

“… ‘cause, you know Dad won't like it.”

“Thanks buddy.”

The older bother grinned, clapped him on the shoulder once and picked up the menu. As always he was not going to be back before midnight, at least.

 

***

 

Dean left at exactly five minutes to eight. Once the roar of the Impala faded into the distance, Sam slid down to the floor leaning against his bed, holding his knees to his chest with both arms. He dug his nails into the soft flesh of his palms until they bled. But the pain was not enough to distract him from the profound agony he felt inside.

// Not gonna cry. Not gonna cry. //

Stupid damn paradoxes. It’s  _good_  that Dean is seeing other people… and not just people… girls! He’s seeing girls ‘cause he’s _straight_. Sam told himself that Dean’s wildly social lifestyle should only serve as a reminder of what could never, _ever_ be. He just had to stop pining after his brother because this was just so… so wrong… on so many freaking levels.

// Technically it wouldn’t be incest because by definition incest is between a brother and a  _sister,_ or a male and female relative, so you’re okay! //

Sam rubbed his eyes with both hands and cursed Natalie for like a millionth time. His brother was consuming him like a fatal addiction and he was so far gone he was starting to not see the difference between reality and fantasy, between right and wrong, moral and… immoral.

Sam was way past the straight versus gay argument by now. Really.

It was with trembling hands that he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the business card. It was with a trembling voice that he made the call and asked Drew to come see him at his motel room.

If Dean could bring a whore back to their  _home_ , then so could he.

 

***


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay a bit more Sam/OMC in this chapter. When I wrote it I visualized Josh Hartnett as Drew but now I see Ryan Phillippe - he does look like Jensen doesn't he? :) A short interlude here is in Drew's POV.

_**Fargo, North Dakota.  
**_ _**November 1998** _ __

_*******************************_

Just after nine, there was a short knock on the door and Sam jumped. He almost _didn’t_ get up to open the door, but at last screwed up enough courage in the name of… 

… of what? Desperation? Distraction? Revenge? Or just sheer pride - not wanting to admit he might have gone a bit too far this time?

It wasn’t completely clear to Sam why he needed to do this, he just did. Maybe this was the final push he needed to… to get this wretched obsession out of his system? Maybe sex with Drew would make him realize that, hey… the whole gay thing wasn’t for him after all. Then maybe he could go back to  _not_  lusting after Dean and instead just loving his brother the way he once did, the way he was supposed to.

Sam opened the door and forced a plastic smile onto his face. “Hey.”

Drew smiled back, an all-knowing lopsided grin that didn’t reach his eyes either, and entered the room. He had a turquoise blue scarf wrapped round his slender neck that looked like a piece of east-Indian handicraft, elegant and exotic. Sam vaguely wondered where a guy like Drew could have gotten his hands on something like it. Drew followed his gaze and smirked.

“Was a gift from a regular of mine. Spends most his summers coked up lying on some random beach in Goa.”

Sam accepted the explanation with a quick nod, then took in the rest of Drew's ensemble: a not new but not too old black jacket over faded blue jeans and a deep wine-red shirt two sizes too small for Drew’s lean, nicely toned torso. The brown suede shoes had seen better days too but it was obvious he’d spent a good amount of money purchasing them. Sam was no fashion expert but he'd say Drew didn’t, for all intents and purposes, look like a hooker at all.

The motel too was, for a change, quite a decent place… spacious and well maintained, with a contemporary blue décor that did not hurt the eyes.

“Nice place," Drew commented as he looked around and took off his jacket. He nonchalantly walked about the room switching off a few lights so only a couple of bedside lamps were left on to envelope the room in a softer yellow-tinged ambience.

Sam exhaled in a rush, hands digging into his baggy jeans pockets.

“You don’t waste time, do you…”

Drew pulled off his scarf and smirked. “I’ll take it slow if you want. Whatever you say…”

Sam swallowed repeatedly. He didn’t know  _what_ to say. Drew walked toward him then, and every instinct in his body told him to run, hide, throw a punch or two but he didn’t… he just stood stark still.

“How old are you?”

Sam started. “Why?”

Drew did a little eyebrow shrug, his eyes twinkling in the dim yellow light.

“I don't care either way. Just wondering if you might be my youngest customer ever.”

Sam needed to change the topic like, yesterday. Wouldn’t help if Drew knew he hadn’t seen his sixteenth birthday yet. Besides Sam was tall enough and developed enough to pass off for someone in their late teens. How much of a felony could statutory rape be in comparison to solicitation anyway?

Sam wondered if he should be thankful or furious with John Winchester for raising his boys to be impervious to living on the wrong side of the law.

“You… look like… you’re on a date or something,” Sam tried to change the subject.

Drew chuckled, looked down at himself and up at Sam again.

“These are my work clothes. I'm planning to go upper class, like a high-end escort, you know? Well, get off the streets for starters. And out of this God forsaken city.”

Drew rambled on pretty darn seriously and Sam just nodded along uselessly. An awkward silence followed because he didn’t know what to say in response. So Drew turned about once again to take in the room.

“Besides, it's a good thing I turned up like this, ain’t it? I assume you wouldn’t want your brother to know you hired a rentboy.”

Hackles rose up on the back of Sam’s neck.

“How…?”

“’67 Chevy Impala? Told you to get in the car like he fuckin’ owned you. That’s the guy, ain’t it?”

Sam remembered. Dean had pulled over right next to him and bellowed at him like only big brothers could. Drew saw Dean apparently, but far as Sam could tell, Dean couldn’t have seen the hooker from where he was parked. Sam figured the twin beds might also have led the visitor to draw the logical conclusion. He quietly exhaled in slight relief, which didn’t last long because Drew spoke again.

“You have the same eyes.”

Sam squinted in suspicion. "You saw his eyes in the dark? From that distance?"

Drew snickered. "Not that night, no. But I'd seen him before. He gets around, your brother. He's kind of memorable, you know?"

Sam swallowed, trying to keep his game face on. He didn’t want to think of Dean or his eyes  _or_  his face right now because that would just… suck very much right now.

“Hundred for an hour, right?”

Drew narrowed his eyes as if something had just clicked and fallen into place. He smirked again.

“That's after discount, one night only, just for you.”

He started to unbutton his shirt and walked in that sultry (albeit practised) manner of his, toward Sam, who quickly crossed his arms to get his fervent trembling under control. With every inch of skin revealed, Sam’s resolve softly crumbled. And yet his stubbornness wouldn’t let him back down. Not when his brother was out there fucking a whore of his own.

“Just relax…”

Drew whispered, his face now inches away from Sam’s as he stepped into his personal space and craned his neck upwards.

“How do you want me?”

“Uhh…”

Drew raised one eyebrow, a grin dying to break out on his face.

“On the bed, doggie style? That’s always a favorite. Or the back of that couch looks good, pretty sturdy, I’d say.”

Sam’s eyes went wider with every lewd visualization Drew’s words brought to his mind. He flushed a bright shade of crimson red and shuffled his feet slightly.

“I… I don’t really… uhh…”

“You  _don’t_   want me?”

“I do! It’s… uhh… I thought m-maybe you c-could… first… uhh…”

Sam fidgeted, frowned, looked away and in general looked like he was about to crawl right out of his skin. Or change his mind.

// Which you probably should. //

Drew pulled back, just a bit, and allowed himself a genuine wide smile. A hand was raised and at first Sam flinched, but then relaxed and let it caress the side of his face gently. He ducked ever so slightly from the weight of fingers stroking the side of his temple down to his exquisite jaw-line.

“It's okay… I think I know what you want…”

Sam didn’t have time or the mental faculties to process that statement as Drew’s hands started to play with the helms of his long-sleeved navy blue t-shirt ending just above his navel (and no it wasn’t that short three months ago when Dean first bought it). He swallowed dryly and barely managed to whisper.

“What do I want?”

Hooking both index fingers into the front of Sam’s jeans, Drew dragged him closer. “Someone to show you, what it's like? Teach you…”

The fingers traveled round the perimeter of his perilously loose waistband, circling his slim waist until both his hands met at the back.

“… take care of you…  _spoil_  you…”

Drew leaned in closer, gazing deep into Sam’s eyes, wide and nervous and reluctantly enthralled, but not all there. Not really there. The adept hands dipped… landed on the curves of the young boy’s ass and held in his palms the epicenter of modest tremors racking the slim body from head to toe. 

“…  _fuck_  you…”

If the words were intended to provoke him, they failed. Sam just stood there, frozen in time and space, absently channeling his big brother inside his head.

// Thank God he didn’t say  _make love_. //

“Tell me this is okay.”

If Sam had been holding his breath all this time, he hadn’t been aware of it up until now. He closed his eyes and let a long drawn sigh escape his lips.

All the confusion, all the pain and guilt, and this profound sense of abandonment he’d suffered for weeks (maybe years)… all his helplessness and desperation had finally led him to this moment. But now that he was here, he couldn’t remember a single reason why he was doing this anymore.

On the other hand, Sam couldn’t think of any reason  _not_ to either.

// Samuel Winchester. This has got to be the dumbest thing you’ve ever done or will ever do your whole damn life. //

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Drew smiled assuringly, pulled off his shirt and let it drop to the floor. He grasped at Sam’s biceps with his hands and shifted him until he was standing next to a bed, then pushed him down onto it. Sam’s butt bounced slightly as he looked up into Drew’s face… the play of dim yellow light and black shadows once again making him look so much like… like…

Sam’s hands rose of their own accord and landed on the hooker’s hips, palming them as Drew pulled out his belt and stepped out of his shoes. He bent each leg at the knee backward to pull his socks off, first right then the left, and that’s when Sam’s breath caught in his throat… Drew was going to take down his pants next.

“You… you have protection?”

Drew smirked. “I’m never without it.”

The perfect fit jeans were peeled down the toned swimmer’s thighs with effortless grace and Sam followed every frame of movement and gasped. His pulse raced as Drew slid the jeans to one side with his foot on the floor, then reached for the waistband of his skimpy black briefs. Time slowed, or maybe Drew’s actions did, as he stripped himself bare and stood up straight and proud, only for Sam’s eyes. Sam forgot to breathe for about a minute. The man was tailor-made for his profession. Drew’s natural elegance and confident presence filled up the room and all conflicts of morality left Sam’s mind for good because…

// ... because this is as good as it will ever get for you. So you might as well take it. //

Drew stepped up closer. His hands reached for Sam’s t-shirt, leisurely pulling it off his torso along with the undershirt in one go. The slight chill in the room sent tingles across his bare chest and back and then Drew went down on one knee before him. Sam couldn’t get his eyes off the man before him; it’d be so easy to pretend this was Dean… to just surrender to his glorious masturbatory fantasies. And yet…

“Sit back and enjoy the ride kid… I’m gonna give you the best ‘first time’ ever.”

// First time? //

As Sam pondered the words, hashing and re-hashing them in his puddle-shaped brain over and over, Drew pushed him back until he was lying flat on his back across the breadth of the bed, his legs still dangling off the side. Drew’s hands grabbed his hips and heaved him upwards so Sam’s feet weren’t touching the ground anymore and his head was partially hanging off the other side of the bed. Sam was almost dazed, not sure what he was being positioned and arranged for, when several fingers deftly started unbuttoning his jeans and working his zipper down.

// First time. //

“Drew…”

“Shh… relax… we’ve done this before.”

Okay, blowjob.

Before Sam could respond, his jeans and boxers were pulled down to his knees and Drew climbed onto the bed straddling him, one knee on each side of Sam’s thighs. If Drew was surprised to see him completely limp he didn’t let on. Instead just casually explored the young boy’s genitals as if he’d never seen any before. Sam’s first reaction was to hide his face with both hands. But soon he dropped his arms by the sides of his head and let Drew drive the show. Surrendered to the gradually building whirlwinds of heat and arousal until he felt himself come alive in Drew’s skilled hands. All thoughts of everything else dissolved away with the blood rushing down from his brain to his groin. His breath hitched and he hyperventilated as Drew ran the tip of his thumb across the head of his pulsating shaft over and over again. His legs twitched, as was his normal reaction to sensual stimulation but trapped beneath the older man, they could accomplish nothing.

“Warn me.”

And that was all the warning he got himself before Drew adjusted his posture then lowered his mouth onto Sam’s stone hard erection.

Silent heaves turned into not so silent moans as Drew’s suctioning skills attempted to draw his very lifeforce out through his cock. Drew was efficient and effective. Sam wrung his hands into the other man’s hair in an attempt to control the proceedings rapidly spinning out of his control. Too hard and too fast and too much and yet not enough. Never enough.

The prostitute hummed around the shaft stuffed to the hilt in his mouth, and the vibrations racked Sam’s entire body from head to toe. He gasped, every sinew in his limbs stretching beyond their limits, eyes scrunched up so tight they actually hurt. It was everything the boy could ask for and yet… not even remotely close to being in the same continent of what he truly wanted.

“D-Dean…!”

 

***

 

The suction stilled for a moment, but only for a moment because Drew was a professional. And this wasn’t even the first time a john hopelessly lost in the wild throes of passion, had called him by someone else’s name. Maybe it did sting just that little bit… because Sam knew his name.

Sam had _bothered_ to ask for his real name.

And now he could sense that Sam was struggling. Drew called upon his years of experience in the business of sexual gratification, and knew what his young client needed. With his free hand, he reached for his jeans lying on the floor and pulled out a tube of KY jelly from a pocket. Single-handedly he lubricated his fingers without once letting Sam know what he was up to. When he was ready, he picked up one of Sam’s taut, outstretched leg and hooked it over his own shoulder. Sam didn’t seem aware of anything else beside the sensation of his over-sensitized cock repeatedly sinking into and surfacing from a hot silken tunnel that led to heaven. But when a cold, gelled finger smoothly slid through the first ring of aching virginal muscle, Sam couldn't help but groan with spine-tingling, overwhelming pleasure.

“Ahh!! God! Dean…!”

Drew’s throat continued to do its swallow, squeeze, repeat routine as another finger found its way inside Sam. Soon the fingers were moving in rhythm with the deep-throating, curling and twisting and brushing against the boy's sweet spot regularly and with deathly precision. Sam screamed once, twice… stuffed a fist into his mouth hard until it came away with teeth marks, and tugged at Drew’s hair in an attempt to warn him. The well-trained mouth withdrew but three fingers continued to pluck at his prostate, coaxing a frantic release of sweat and tears and pearly strings of ejaculate… and an unbroken litany of  _DeanDeanDean_ in a soft, broken voice.

Drew wondered who this Dean was - probably some hot, unattainable jock at Sam's school. Older most likely, maybe a teacher?

It didn't matter, of course. He'd just never had a john ask to be fucked before. But novelty aside, Sam was such a sweet kid who hadn't treated Drew like the prostitute he was. So Drew was determined to do everything in his power to help him out. Even if it meant being a 'Dean' for the hour. 

 

***

 

When Sam squinted at his watch next, it was twenty minutes to ten PM.

// Damn. How long was I out? //

“About ten minutes.”

Drew smiled, rightly interpreting the dazed expression on Sam’s face. He lay stretched alongside the boy, propped up on an elbow with one leg casually thrown over the closest of Sam’s thighs. In his free hand he held a damp washcloth, gently stroking it across Sam’s pale white chest to wipe the remnants of their shared lust away.

"Wha-what happened?"

Drew snickered. "Apparently I blew your brains out, and you dozed off. I'd say the night's been a success so far, won't you agree?"

Sam tried to smile and raise himself off the bed by his elbows, but gave up the next second.

“Ready for round two?” Drew asked, still amused.

Sam swallowed, not sure how to respond. Drew ran a fingernail across his collarbone then shimmied down to circle a nipple before dipping into his navel. Sam knew from past experience that his belly button was extremely sensitive and responsive, but for some unexplainable reason, he didn’t want to be touched there. Not right now.

Not by Drew.

Instead he shifted, rolled and finally turned over on his stomach, offering his bedmate for the night full access to his backside.

“Go ahead,” he said, looking straight into Drew’s eyes with as much conviction and courage that he could muster.

“Show me.”

 _What it's like_.

Drew sat up, staring at the gangly young boy laid out before him. His eyes and palms lingered forever at the two round globes of his pale white ass and Sam wondered when was the last time this rent boy had  _not_ been on the receiving end of… things.

// He must think you’re a freak. Duh. Who doesn’t. //

Drew reached for his jeans on the floor again, pulled out something orange and plastic-y and held up for Sam to see.

// First time. //

Once again, Sam followed every movement almost as if in slow motion as Drew brought the packet to his lips… those dark red, luscious, cock-sucking lips… bit into a small end of the plastic and the hand holding the condom jerked with enough force to rip it open. Long fingers, manicured nails… of course Dean, in his line of work, was more likely to get his nails pulled out than have them manicured.

Sam shuddered, partially from the grossness of the thought and partially… because he just realized something.

If this exercise in self-destruction was meant to distract Sam from his thoughts of Dean then… wow, so far they'd done a bang-up job on that one. And if it was meant to wean him off his newfound gayness… or should that be gaydom? Gayhood? …

Sam winced and tried to rub out the impending headache from his temples.

“Dea… uh, Drew…”

The hooker had by now straddled his prone form once again… hands making long, inspiriting strokes from his neck right down to his tailbone. Fingers dipped into the cleft of his butt and all human speech was lost to Sam at the mind-numbing sensation that followed. Those fingers had been inside him not so long ago and now there’d be something else replacing them. Something bigger, better and for the very first time ( _Not Dean! Not Dean!_ ) Pleasuring him… giving him what he’d been craving for, for so long…

Sam heard the plastic unfurl behind him and imagined Dean sheathing himself in the rubber and preparing to enter his body. Took a few seconds for the thought to reflect back and he realized what he’d just… thought.

“I can’t do this.”

Drew’s hands stilled. “What?”

A sniffle was heard from the vicinity of the pillows and Drew retreated to sit besides Sam. Sam turned toward him, unable to meet his eyes, his own brimming with moisture.

“I… it's… I’m not…”

“You wanna do me?”

“Uhh… n-no. I… No.”

This was not how he’d wanted his ‘first time’ to be. This was a cheap replacement; a plebian, half-assed attempt to make himself feel like less of a dependent on Dean and it hadn’t worked.

There was a visible tinge of disappointment on the older man’s face, but he quickly shrugged it off and stood up. Sam was thinking of what he could say to appease him when Drew folded his arms in front of his chest and pouted in a very Dean-ish way.

“You’re still gonna pay up, right?”

“What? Yeah, sure! Absolutely.”

“Cool.”

Sam turned over, struggled with unraveling the covers to get under them as Drew casually pulled his clothes back on. Sam’s own nakedness now seemed a glaring testament to how low he’d fallen and he wanted to jump into a hot cleansing shower at once. But more than that, he wanted Drew gone. Part of him also felt he owed Drew an explanation, but how does one explain to a complete stranger the complexities of his pathetic weirdo life?

// I’m sorry Drew, but I’m in love with my brother. And you look way too much like him for this to work. Even though that’s the reason why I chose you in the first place. Yeah it’s all fucked up, I know. Goodbye now. //

“You know…”

Drew stepped into one shoe, then the next, not stumbling once.

“You’re the first john in a long, long time who’s looked me in the eye.”

Sam swallowed, yet refusing to look up at Drew. A slow shiver began to take form at the base of his spine, and he pulled up the covers to his chest protectively.

“Women do. Men... men don’t.”

Drew shrugged, started walking back to the bed and Sam quickly reached for the bedside drawer, looking for something to do with his restless hands. He pulled out several crumpled bills (two months' worth of his allowance savings) and held them up for Drew. The man stood at the bedside, looking down at the shivering boy chewing his lower lip. He accepted the money, gently prying it loose from Sam's nervously outstretched hand, then stuffing it into his pocket. But instead of letting go, Drew closed both his hands around the youngster’s tightly curled fist, and took a seat beside him.

Sam’s breath quickened when Drew brought his lips down and kissed his pale knuckles, gently, one by one.

“It's okay. It's okay.”

// Damn those words! //

His eyes suddenly glimmered with unshed tears. He expected the man to be pissed, or relieved, hell maybe just be totally indifferent and walk out. He did not expect Drew to look at him with such compassion in his eyes. There were so many things he wanted to talk to _someone_ about and at that moment, seemed like Drew would listen. But words failed him completely and he just sat there like a mute marionette, staring into Drew’s eyes… wishing they were someone else’s…

 

Then the door opened.

 

***

 

“What the hell?”

Drew and Sam looked up toward the intruder together and Drew stood up. Sam was frozen in his spot as his brother’s eyes landed on his obviously nude form under the covers. And then, enraged, they turned to Drew. 

“You sick bastard!”

Sam regained his ability to move then and jumped off the bed dragging the covers along with him, blanketing him from the waist down but also restricting his legs severely.

“No, Dean wait!”

But it was too late. Dean had already crossed the room in two long strides and his fist contacted with Drew’s jaw with a loud crack that echoed in the small motel room.

“Sonofabitch! He’s FIFTEEN!”

“Stop it! It's not his fault!”

Sam managed to separate the two and stand between Drew and Dean before his furious brother could do more damage.

“Wait a… WHAT? You’re fifteen?”

“Sixteen. Al-Almost.”

There was a desperate plea in Sam’s voice and eyes when he explained himself. Drew’s face was twisted in a painful grimace as he caught his rapidly swelling jaw with one hand, and held another hand in a defensive stance before his face just in case Dean swung again.

Realization dawned on all three at once – Drew didn’t know, Dean didn’t know Drew didn’t know, and Sam didn’t know how far he could run with the bed cover swathed around him before Dean chased him down.

“So what, he told you he’s twenty and you believed him? You’re twice his age, you sick fuck!”

Drew rolled his eyes, ignoring the exaggerated insult… he was probably used to worse.

“Dude, trust me. Age is the least of your worries right now.”

Those words stopped Dean in his tracks. The look of utter confusion that shrouded his face was not lost on Sam and he panicked at the prospect of what Dean would do if he found out that Drew wasn't exactly a date.

He quickly turned to Drew.

“You should leave.”

Drew stood with his hands on his hips staring off with Dean, and for a second Sam feared he was going to say more. The man picked up his scarf off the floor, flung it across his neck and turned to glare at Sam.

“ _This_ is Dean?” he asked in a low hiss of a voice.

Sam trembled hard, the accusation loud and clear, but did not react. The outsider’s eyes were firm and a little miffed, but that hint of compassion Sam thought he’d seen before, was still there. Drew took a step closer to Sam and Dean almost jumped him again, but restrained himself.

“Tell him.” He whispered.

Then Drew was gone.

 

***

 

When the door slammed shut, Dean turned back to Sam and Sam immediately turned away, started looking for his clothes.

“Where did he find you?”

“…”

“Sam, answer me. Where did you meet this guy? Do you know how many pervs are out there, just waiting to prey on stupid kids like you?”

Words were ground out through his teeth. “I’m  _not_ a kid.”

Dean ignored the lame justification and went to grab Sam before he could disappear into the bathroom and put the surprisingly steadfast door between them. Sam flinched away from his brother’s touch again but Dean did not relent this time.

“Let me go!”

“Oh no, not this time kiddo.”

He dragged his whining baby brother to the nearest bed and seated him there before kneeling on the floor before him.

“Look at me.”

Sam fought against Dean’s hands holding him down and tried to get up, still clutching the covers around his waist with one hand and looking everywhere  _but_ at his brother. But Dean was having none of it.

“You have to answer my questions, it's very important, Sammy… look at me!”

The pained whimper escaping Sam’s lips brought him to his senses somewhat and his voice softened.

“Sammy hey… c’mon… hey… it's okay. Just look at me.”

“…”

“Shh, look at me Sam, it's okay. It's okay.”

Sam calmed somewhat. “Please, let me put my clothes on.”

Dean swallowed, wiped at the tears flowing down his little brother’s face.

“Sure, but first… I just wanna make sure you’re not hurt. Did he… what did he do to you?”

“…”

The water in his eyes made it impossible to see, just as the roaring of his heartbeat seemed to drown all other sounds of the universe in its wake. Sam struggled to understand what Dean was saying, he just wanted to get away… away from his brother’s searching eyes and frisking hands… electric hands…

“Sammy…”

“N-Nothing happened.”

“Are you lying to me? Because I’ll check myself if you are…”

Dean reached forward as if to pull the covers away from Sam's waist and the younger boy shrank into himself in sheer panic. “No, don't! Nothing happened, please!”

“Okay. Okay…”

Dean rose to sit by him on the bed and pulled his brother into a tight hug. Sam stiffened, planted his free hand in the middle of Dean’s chest with the intention to push but somehow he couldn’t. 

He just couldn’t.

His face rested in the crook of Dean’s neck and his tears were drenching his brother's maroon shirt as well as black undershirt but Dean just kept holding him, carding fingers through his hair, rocking him. It took what felt like forever, but Sam felt the bout of hysteria gradually receding, his normal composure returning. Everything seemed a whole lot better now that Dean didn’t seem all that angry with him anymore. But the issues still remained, Sam knew, and for the life of him he couldn’t stop trembling.

“I want you to get dressed right here. I won’t look I promise. But you’re not locking yourself up in the damn bathroom again. This new Sammy-thing, I don’t like it. I’m  _not cool_ with it. You hear me?”

That was Dean’s way of drawing the line… this being the final word on the subject and Sammy was expected to obey no matter what. Obviously he didn’t have a choice, so he mutely nodded. Dean let him go, almost reluctantly and stood up, turning around to give Sam his privacy.

Sam hurriedly slipped into his jeans without the boxers then pulled on his t-shirt and shoes just as Dean turned back around. Sam’s face was red partly with the crying and partly with the utter humiliation he felt, but couldn’t even blame anyone except himself for it. He was the one who hired a hooker and brought him to their room. Avoiding Dean’s cold gaze he sat back on the bed, curled up tight so he looked helplessly small, like he was ten again. At least he wasn’t bawling like he was ten anymore.

“What are you doing back so early?”

Dean swallowed. “I’m the one asking the questions today, Sammy.”

He sat down on the other bed facing Sam even though the younger boy occupied himself with studying his long sleeves’ decorative buttons and didn’t look up once.

“So what was this? Anything Dean can do I can do better? Is that it?”

// I tried. But don’t worry - you’re still the family slut, big brother. //

“Where did you meet him?”

“None of your goddamned business," Sam mumbled but there was hardly a bite in there.

“Sammy…”

“…”

Dean sighed in exasperation. “It's called statutory rape for a reason, Sam.”

“And since when did you become such a law-abiding citizen?”

“Since my baby brother started inviting perverted sickos back home to get himself molested, that’s when!”

Sam muttered under his breath again. “As if you care.”

But Dean heard him loud and clear. 

“Do you  _want_ me to beat the shit outta you, Sam?”

“…”

“DO YOU?”

Sam bit his lip, cringing at the loudness of Dean’s wrath but kept his eyes averted.

Dean straightened up and looked away, at a loss as to how to reach his sulking little brother. Sam was in no mood to help. He was drained emotionally and physically and all he wanted was for this terrible, no good yaddi yadda night to be over. He longed for that hot shower once again.

After a few seconds, during which he’d zoned out completely, Sam heard Dean forcing out a soft chuckle.

“Maybe I’m making too big a deal of this.”

Sam started, looked up at his brother’s stressed features as he rubbed his forehead with his left hand. But he looked back down again before his eyes could meet Dean’s. The twenty-year old stood up and paced the length of their little motel room, then came back down to sit in front of Sam again. He put a hand on Sam’s knee and pointedly ignored the slight flinch as a result of it.

He looked straight into Sam’s eyes.

“He didn’t force you into anything?”

“No.”

“And you are  _sure_  you’re okay?”

Sam gritted his teeth. “Yes.”

“And you’re upset because…”

// Because I love you. Because I went to ridiculous lengths to get over you and it didn’t work. Because you don’t have a fucking clue. And because if you  _did_ have a fucking clue… //

“Because you’re being a jerk.”

“Okay. Fair enough.”

Dean got up and huffed, then paced some more. The silence between them lay heavy and awkward and goddamned uncomfortable.

“Please, at least… tell me you used a rubber.”

Sam flushed red.

“I told you, nothing happened.”

The disbelief was unspoken but reverberated loud and clear between them.

“I couldn’t go through with it. He was just leaving when, when you walked in.”

“That the truth?”

Sam glared at Dean then, his eyes laced with bitterness that he was sure Dean wouldn’t miss. It was the most honest he’d been with his brother since… well, ever since this whole  _thing_  started.

He, in turn, saw a clearly evident sense of relief in Dean’s sea-green eyes and wished he’d had the energy to torment his big brother a bit longer.

“Can… can I ask why?”

Sam wondered which 'why' Dean had in mind exactly: Why bring a lover to their room like Dean did? Why choose a male lover clearly years older to himself? Or why couldn't he go through with it? Funny thing - the answer to all three whys was one and the same. 

The tear glands chose that moment to act up again but despite them, Sam did not break eye contact with his disastrously oblivious brother. Absently thought back to an article he’d recently read, about the slaughtering of racehorses in America when they get injured or ill… and how they have the gall to term it ‘euthanasia’. He was completely against this horrible inhumane practice of course but right now for himself… maybe euthanasia wasn’t such a bad way to go after all. Definitely beat this slow, torturous dying little by little every day… he couldn’t do it anymore.He needed to end this, one way or another.

But more importantly, he needed to  _know_.

“Are you really this stupid, Dean? Or is it just easier to play dumb?”

 

***

 


	8. Chapter 8

_**Fargo, North Dakota.  
November 1998** _

_*******************************_  
  
  
"Are you really this stupid, Dean? Or is it just easier to play dumb?"  
  
The words were tumbling out of his mouth long before he could think to _think_ of the consequences. And then before he knew it, it was done. The almighty, unspoken (of course) rule of the Winchester clan lay shattered around them and no one was more surprised than Sam himself. The die was cast and he couldn't take it back. What was the worst that could happen anyway? All he had left to do now was wait.  
  
Wait for the silence that stretched like the Red sea between the two brothers to dissipate, and for Dean to change the monotonous blank expression on his face to something remotely readable… recognizable. But he didn’t. Instead, Dean stared right back, eyes glassed over with something that Sam knew he’d seen before but couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Dean was like a freaking black box and Sam’s only clue in was a flickering movement at the pillar of his throat when Dean swallowed… hard, and then nothing. Nothing except more silence.  
  
It took a few seconds for Sam to realize that  _silence_ itself, was his answer.  
  
“You knew…”  
  
“Sam…”  
  
He gasped louder this time. “You _knew_? All this time?”  
  
It was as if the switch to a gigantic Hoover had been thrown and all the air in the room was sucked out and Sam couldn’t breathe. Somehow he managed to sense Dean’s approach and the hand that was reaching out to steady him.  
  
“Take it easy…”  
  
“Get away from me!”  
  
He didn’t know where he got the strength to push himself up and out of his brother’s reach. Staggering for a minute as the ground beneath his feet shook, Sam was convinced the earth had it in for him as well. Guess hoping for it to open up and swallow him whole  _right fucking now_  would probably be too much to ask for.  
  
“How…?”  
  
Dean tried to step closer to him again but Sam stepped back one more time, causing Dean to throw his hands up in the air once before they settled on his hips.  
  
“You haven’t exactly been yourself for some time now, Sammy. I just…  _Jesus_ … ”  
  
“All this time… you just pretended you didn’t see? That everything was okay and… all those girls and…?”  
  
This time Dean didn’t try to reach for him, or console him. Instead he exploded himself.  
  
“ _What did you expect me to do_? Clearly, I missed the memo on this one, so why don’t you tell me Sammy. What’s a  _brother_  supposed to  _do_  in a situation like this?”  
  
Good question,  _brother_. Sam wasn’t stupid, and apparently, as it turned out, neither was Dean. So what _was_ Dean supposed to do anyway? Sam noticed they still hadn’t actually put this ‘this’ into discernible words yet. Chances were they weren't even talking about the same thing here. But the look on Dean's face was so... so helpless and befuddled and at the same time so incredibly embarrassed... Sam didn't think there was anything left on the planet that could embarrass his big brother.

There was no doubt Dean really did know. A fresh bout of shivers climbed up his spine at the sudden realization. Sam crossed his arms and hugged himself tightly, his lower lip pushing out into a pout on its own.

“You could have tried talking to me about... _it_  …”  
  
“You wanna talk?” Dean sat back down on the bed and leaned forward. “Fine. Let’s talk.”  
  
Shit. This Sam had not expected. And now he couldn’t think of anything to say.  
  
“What do you want me to do, Sammy? What can I do to fix this?”  
  
Dean sounded desperate. The whole Drew situation had obviously shaken him up, as of course Sam knew it would. He’d almost wished for Dean to walk in on him and Drew, just so he’d have an excuse to let Dean know… and then it had actually happened and it was as if Sam’s whole world had been painted with the darkest shades of regret, and permanent humiliation.  
  
// Teach you to watch what you wish for next time, dickhead. //  
  
Sam was well aware of the futility of their circumstances. Of course there was nothing Dean could do. Unless he was just as pathetically and perversely in love with his brother as Sam was… there was absolutely nothing anyone could do. Sam wanted to sink to the floor, curl up around himself and just bawl his eyes out for an eternity. He’d heard somewhere that that helped.  
  
“Please tell me how to help you because… I’m running out of ideas here, man.”  
  
// Love me? Please… //  
  
After a moment of silence in which neither knew what to say, Dean exhaled loudly and clucked his tongue.  
  
“Look it’s just one of those goddamn teenage phases. Everyone goes through shit like this and it just goes away on its own. I’m telling ya, you  _will_  grow out of it.”  
  
Sam was already suspicious of the tone of Dean’s voice… almost as if Dean was trying to convince himself more than Sam.  
  
“How can you say that?”  
  
“Dude, I was fifteen once.”  
  
The pout worsened. “Sixteen.”  
  
“Not yet.” Dean snarled back, then carried on with vocalizing his internal monologue.  
  
“I’m telling ya, it’s that… that thing, what’s it called? - Hormonal imbalances. Yeah, that’s all it is, Sammy, I promise. It will go away, you just gotta… you know, not think about it so much.”  
  
Sam snorted. Why did his big brother always try to break things down to their simplest, basal nature and then act like nothing was ever a big deal? And why was  _this_  not a big deal to Dean?  
  
// Because he doesn’t know you’re in love with him. He thinks you’re just a horny young kid pining for his hot brother’s equally hot ass. //  
  
“It’s not going to just go away. Not as long as…”  
  
Dean frowned at him. “As what?”  
  
Sam swallowed. “Not as long as I’m around... you. Believe me I tried. It’s just getting harder with every day and I… I can’t do this anymore…”  
  
Dean stiffened, looked up at Sam appraisingly. “What are you saying?”  
  
Here was Dean, willing at last to listen to Sam rant his heart out. Only, now, Sam just couldn’t find the words to articulate the pain he felt inside.  
  
// I can’t live like this… I need to get out… get as far away from you as possible… //  
  
“Why, you selfish little punk.”  
  
Sam jumped, wondered if he’d just spoken out aloud. Nope… he was pretty sure he hadn’t.  
  
“What?”  
  
There was a seething sarcasm in Dean’s words. “Always thinking about yourself, what you want and what you need. What about what _I_ want for a change, huh? What about what Dad wants?”  
  
Sam got angry too. “What has Dad got to do with this, Dean?”  
  
“Everything!”  
  
Dean stood up, outraged. Took a couple of steps towards Sam menacingly until the younger boy backed up.  
  
“You know Dad needs us, both me and you, Sammy. But all  _you_  do is look for excuses to abandon him! And I might defend you in front of the old man but I gotta say, I’m getting pretty sick and tired of your rap myself.”  
  
“You think I’m making this up as an excuse to get _out_?”  
  
Dean swallowed, a sure giveaway he wasn't completely certain, but he shrugged like he was.  
  
“Sounds like it.”  
  
// Oh Dean. You ginormous moron. //  
  
In the moments that followed, Sam felt as if he’d been possessed. Because, surely it couldn’t be his own body crossing the room in two huge strides to reach the other guy. Surely it wasn’t  _his_  brain instructing his own hands to grab Dean’s face by the back of his ears and surely… surely it wasn’t  _his_  mouth that closed over his brother’s with the ferocity of a ravenous, wild animal.  
  
Maybe he needed Dean to see the depth and sincerity of his feelings toward him. Maybe he was thrown by the accusation that he was faking it all just to be able to ditch this pathetic road trip they called _life_. Maybe, maybe he just needed to feel those lips against his for the first, and last, time. Sam didn’t know why he did it… and he honestly didn’t much care. All he knew was searing warmth and infallible strength of his brother against his thinner frame and waited for the firm hands to wrench him away as he knew they surely would. Any moment now.  
  
He was not disappointed.  
  
“Sam! What the fuck… ?!?”  
  
Dean couldn’t complete. The sight of tears in his little brother’s eyes was probably reason enough. And then Sam was running, out the door of their motel room and into the pouring rain. Dean stood glued to his spot for a second longer, then cursed like a mad pirate and rushed out after Sam.  
  
  
***

Sam ran without a clear thought as to where he was going or what he was doing. The drops of water that ran down his cheeks could no longer be differentiated from the ones that were dripping from his bangs of hair, not that it mattered. Soon as he was clear of the motel’s parking lot he crossed over to the other side of a relatively busy road, and slowed down. Dug his hands into his jeans pockets and kept walking.  
  
Someone yelled after him. “Sam!”  
  
Dean was on the other side of the road, Friday night traffic stopping him from getting to Sam’s side. He ignored him, and hurried his steps.  
  
“Sammy, come on… let’s talk about this.”  
  
Had to snort at that. Sam hollered back his own response, loud enough to be heard over the steady rainfall and a speeding sedan that just passed them by.  
  
“Sure! Let’s talk… I fucking kissed you, Dean! What do you have to say to that?”  
  
His brother visibly flinched but tried to disguise it with a smirk, and a vehement shoulder shrug.  
  
“I say it’s about time we acknowledged our family heritage…” Another SUV zipped past and the boys kept walking. “We  _are_  one-fourth Italian after all…”  
  
If this was Dean’s idea of funny, well… it was not. Sam was cold, he was embarrassed and he felt like an idiot. A hopelessly  _rejected_  idiot. And he just wanted Dean to let him mope in peace. He didn't want to talk about it anymore, not if Dean intended to just laugh it off, or claim it was a phase, or an excuse - anything to deny the truth of what this really was.   
  
“Just leave me alone, alright?”  
  
“So you can go get yourself molested again? I don’t think so.”  
  
Fucking stubborn big brothers. Sam turned around, and started walking backwards on the pavement just so he could look Dean in the eye. The traffic continued to disrupt his vision now and again but he hardly noticed it at this point.  
  
“I’m not a kid anymore, Dean. You really think I’m gonna fall apart without you there to watch out for me, don’t you? Well newsflash… I don’t need you! Fuck I’d be so much happier without having to look at your ugly-ass face every day!”  
  
Sam stretched his arms out wide, not looking or caring where he was going anymore.  
  
“ _I’d be free!!_ ”  
  
As expected, Dean was getting seriously pissed off. Vanity was his second favorite sin after all, was right up there close on the heels of blatant and shameless lust.  
  
“Alright, Lady Liberty. Get your ass back inside before I sweep the fucking street with it.”  
  
Sam tried to laugh back. “Of course – violence is your answer to everything, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yeah. Just like running away is  _your_  answer to everything.”  
  
Sam ground his teeth so hard it hurt. “I HATE you.”  
  
Usually, Sam could get away with saying stuff like that; hell he’d gotten away with worse. Usually Dean would just say something like ‘I know you do’ and be done with it. But not this time. Dean was at the end of his rope here, and in no mood to back off this time.  
  
“That’s not what you say at night when you’re blowing your load and moaning my name in your sleep, Sammy.”

Sam froze.  
  
Teetering at the very edge of the sidewalk... oblivious to everything except the red-hot blaze on his face and a mind-numbing roar inside his head. He didn’t hear the rain, didn’t hear the honking and probably didn’t hear his brother apologizing or yelling at him to watch out either. The sudden adrenaline impetus came out of nowhere and he stumbled right off the pavement, breaking into a wild run.

And right into the oncoming traffic.  
  
A black truck screeched to a halt, sliding sideways and just missing Sam by mere inches. The boy, disoriented as he was, thought to get out of the way a moment too late and when he did, his foot slipped in the water sending him sprawling face first to the ground. He barely managed to break the fall with his hands and knees scraping the ground against the momentum of his run.  
  
“Sam!!”  
  
Dean was at his side the very next instant. The horror of what almost happened steamrolled everything in its wake, and for a moment Sam forgot why he was running in the first place. That is, until he saw Dean first extend a hand to help but then, as if on second thought, immediately withdraw it.  
  
The whole night had been a series of disasters, one after another after another… but this was the very worst. Sam looked up into Dean’s face… obviously his brother found him so disgusting he couldn’t even bear the thought of touching him anymore. Sam struggled to speak around the lump in his throat.  
  
“You think I’m a freak, don’t you?”  
  
Dean didn’t respond, his face shuttered once again. In the background, a truck door opened and slammed shut and the brothers braced themselves for yet another set of lungs to start bellowing.  
  
“Dean? Sam!!!”  
  
They both whipped around toward the stunned voice.  
  
“Dad?!?”  
  
  
***

  
Sam limped back into the room and sat down on his bed, hunched over and praying to be left alone. But when did his family ever care for his wishes.  
  
His father closed the door and stood with his arms crossed, the expression on his face just as menacing as it'd been minutes ago out on the main road.

After checking up on Sam to make sure he wasn’t hurt, John had literally exploded. What did the boys think they were doing prancing around in the rain on a busy road like that? What if it had been someone else driving the truck and didn’t hit the brakes on time? What if they’d caused a fatal accident and someone got hurt? Not that he got any answers from the boys. Frustrated, he had barked at them to get in the back and drove them back to the motel in a huff.

“Report. Now.”  
  
Dean swallowed, and began.  
  
“We… were arguing. It got out of hand, Sam ran out. I chased him and… it was my fault.”  
  
“What was the argument about?”  
  
No one responded.  
  
“Sam? What were you thinking, if at all? You could’ve been hurt or worse!”  
  
Sam didn’t have the energy to talk back like he was usually inclined (delighted) to do. He just sat there, staring into nothingness.  
  
The father prodded for about as long as his patience lasted, then gave up. John was exhausted and achy from a tough hunt and in absolutely no mood to play mediator to his feuding sons. Besides, when did he ever have to, anyway? Things always sorted themselves out on their own, or at least Dean saw to it that they did. How could this be any different? John shook his head to show he was still annoyed and that the boys hadn’t heard the last of this.  
  
“Dean, come help me unload the truck then get us something to eat. You," he growled pointing at Sam, "Clean up. I wanna make sure it is my own slime-covered son I dragged back home and not someone else’s.”  
  
Sam didn’t think it was funny, nor did he comply immediately. The fatigue he felt was so overwhelming, he thought if an eighteen-wheeler came his way right now, he couldn’t possibly move to so much as glance at it. But the thought of a hot shower revived him somewhat. His obsession won out over his bone-deep exhaustion… his new ‘Sammy-thing’… that’s what Dean had called it. Sam forced himself to get up and pulled his wet t-shirt over his head, dropped it to the floor then dragged his feet into the bathroom.  
  
When all the hot water was gone, he slipped on a fresh pair of white boxers and a dull blue t-shirt that used to be Dean’s and had recently become two sizes too small on his own frame as well, but he couldn’t care less. Soon as he stepped out of the bathroom, he spotted the bag of burger and fries and his favorite shake standing on the coffee table, but he couldn’t care less about that either. He just wanted to bury himself under the covers and sleep forever. But he couldn’t, because the first-aid box lay open in the middle of his bed and… Dean was standing in the doorway.  
  
Two pairs of green eyes met in what must have been the longest deadlock on planet Earth; at least that was how Sam felt it. He wondered if he’d ever seen his brother so still and quiet before, and what was going on inside that thick head of his.  
  
// He’s thinking - shapeshifter, maybe. Or possession by a ghost.  _Gay_  ghost. Yeah, that seemed like a more plausible scenario. //  
  
Or maybe he was contemplating different ways to give electric shock therapy to Sam in his sleep so he could be cured of his 'sickness'. He wouldn’t put it past Dean’s active imagination. Hell, Sam had thought it himself.  
  
Dean moved toward the medical kit, rolling up his sleeves. Once he was next to the bed he signaled with two fingers to Sam.  
  
“Come here.”  
  
His voice was just as cool and matter-of-fact as always, like he was discussing the friggin’ weather. Sam didn’t move a muscle.  
  
Dean sighed. “Don’t make me come get you.”  
  
“Right and that’d be such a pain ‘cause it would involve  _touching_ …”  
  
“Stop being an idiot and get your ass here right NOW.”  
  
// Freaking jerk. //  
  
Part of his economy-sized brain (the still rationally functioning side) realized it was possibly a good thing Dean was just as much an asshole to him tonight as he was every other night because, well, that would be normal and normal right now would be very good news. But a bigger (teenage, angst-ridden, prefers to wallow) part only perceived Dean as being unnecessarily mean, and struggled to understand how Sam could possibly love this guy almost as much as he hated him.  
  
“Sam…”  
  
Oh sure, of all the things he stood to inherit from the Winchester gene pool, Dean had to grab the 'warning tone' first. His feet relented and Sam inched closer to the bed, but Dean ran out of patience by then. He strode over, took Sam by the arm and practically shoved him until he was seated on the edge of the bed. Sam glared up at him as he yanked his arm away.  
  
“Jerk!”  
  
“Bitch.”  
  
Dean knelt before the boy and examined the badly skinned knees. The abrasions had stopped bleeding an hour ago and Sam had clearly rubbed them raw while in the shower, but Dean picked up the antiseptic anyway. Sam resisted rolling his eyes; big brother never could resist the lure of scraped knees ever since Sam had figured out how to get them that way.  
  
The problem began when Sam flinched away from the burn of the salve, and Dean reached out to hold the back of Sam’s right knee with his free hand.  
  
// ohGodNoSweetMotherOfNo //  
  
Sam was sure Dean could feel him vibrating through and through. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Dean _did_ feel disgusted and never touch him ever again! The warm, calloused fingers splayed across his calf sent titillating signals to every nerve ending in his body and especially between his legs. Sam hunched over himself, crossing his arms in his lap in a not so subtle attempt to preserve his meager dignity.  
  
// He’s seen you jack off in your sleep, moron, what fucking dignity is there left? //  
  
His face felt hot and flushed, and he wondered how that was even possible considering all the blood in his body seemed to be congregating in his balls.  
  
“Can’t believe Dad let you off so easy. You nearly got yourself run over, Sam.”  
  
Sam managed a reasonably nasty scowl. “Ee-yeah. I was there.”  
  
He hissed in pain as Dean dabbed some more antiseptic almost vengefully on his right kneecap before switching to his other one. The tingling sensation of warmth turned to cold once Dean unhanded him, and Sam practically panted in relief. Dean rolled his eyes and muttered something about ‘fucking drama queens’ under his breath. Guess he assumed Sam’s reactions were to the mild pain and Sam was more than okay with that. But then Dean turned his attention to his left knee, once again restraining it so Sam couldn’t get away and  _God!_  … How could a simple, casual touch of Dean’s hand do this to him?  
  
“You understand he cannot know about this.”  
  
Sam bit his lip, and looked away, suddenly realizing he had been gawking at Dean… mesmerized at the sight of his brother kneeling before him, and his thoughts had veered off on some crazy tangent about magnificent Spartan pleasure-slaves and such. Luckily, Dean was too busy playing doctor to notice.  
  
“We have to pretend like everything’s okay so he won’t get suspicious.”  
  
“…”  
  
“That means you put an end to this brooding Hamlet act of yours. _Now_. You hear me?”  
  
Pretend like everything’s okay… because obviously it was not. Sam wondered if things would ever be okay between the two, if that were even remotely possible. In a couple decades, maybe. Dean looked up into his face and Sam quickly averted his eyes, struggling to hold the storm at bay. Dean shifted slightly to reach for the band-aids and went back to concentrating on the task at hand, clearing his voice abruptly and speaking directly to Sam’s wounded knee.  
  
“There’s a hunt in Minnesota that Dad wants us to join. Eat your dinner and go to sleep. Have to be up at o-six-hundred sharp. Hands okay?”  
  
Sam automatically held out his palms for Dean to see, way he’d done so many hundred times before. They were slightly red and still sore but the skin was unbroken so Dean let them be. But try as he might, Sam couldn’t resist whining because really, close quarters in the Impala with his brother _and_ dad? That would be way too much for him to handle right now.

He waited until Dean stood up and took his hands off Sam, allowing his brain cells to simmer down to their usual, non-agitated state.  
  
“I don’t wanna go.”  
  
“Not an option, Sammy.”  
  
Sam looked up, more than taken aback by the sudden softness in Dean’s tone. Dean continued to pack up the first aid stuff and gathered the box to himself before pausing to look back into Sam’s questioning eyes.  
  
“You don’t get to choose. Not this time.”

 

***

  
The door slid shut quietly and Sam was left alone. He sat on the edge of the bed, listless, staring at the little white squares of plaster on both his knees. Absently, he traced the soft sprinkle of blond hair on his thighs with trembling fingers - a weird trait considering the hair on his head was a dark chestnut and maybe Mary had something to do with it but it was embarrassing nonetheless. His mind quietly reveled in the vivid memory of Dean stroking his bare skin and he kept shuddering involuntarily, hardly mindful of his gradually sagging erection. The food remained untouched.

Sam got under the covers, trying desperately to wish himself into selective amnesia… shift-delete the whole fucking night off his brain so he could find some peace.  
  
// You don’t get to choose. //  
  
Dean had made his stand abundantly clear. Not that Sam had expected anything different, but the sheer finality of those words had hurt much more than he could have possibly prepared himself for.  
  
Where do they go from here?  
  
Sam tossed and turned. He forced his eyes shut and counted sheep to get himself to doze off, what with the big hunt early in the morning that needed him to be fully rested and ready, but sleep was miles away from where he lay tonight. It didn’t help that he kept anxiously waiting to hear Dean’s footsteps as he sneaked back into the room at night to sleep. Kept craning so as not to miss the little sounds Dean would make - pulling both his flannel and under-shirt over his head in one go, throwing his boots under the bed before collapsing on top of it heavily. Sounds that signified relief (that they were alive) and comfort (that he was with Dean no matter where they were) and  _home_  to Sam since as far back as he could remember.  
  
He waited, and waited.

Dean never returned to the room that night.

 

***


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter is like an Interlude of sorts in Dean’s POV. This will be the only chapter from Dean’s perspective and after this we go back to Sammy.

__

_**Fargo, North Dakota.  
November 1998** _

_*******************************_  
  
The first time I noticed something was up with the kid was when he stopped taking his clothes off around me. And that did not come out right so let me try again.  
  
Sammy’s always been a tad shy and all, but between us it was never an issue until… you know what now that I think about it… until that girl  _Natalie_  came into his life. I don’t know why or how or who else but, _dude..._  if word had gotten out that banging her turns perfectly straight, virile young boys into flaming homosexuals, sure wouldn’t have done her Homecoming queen prospects any favors.  
  
Then came the hour long  _tete-a-tetes_  he’d have with the freakin’ shower head, if you get my drift. Now personally I got nothing against a little self-service in the bathroom, obviously, but something didn’t seem too right about that look of guilt and like, semi-panic he’d get whenever he ran into me right after. I knew Sam was struggling with something big. Bigger than your average bout of crabs. Like a deep moral and spiritual conflict with far-reaching implications maybe… or maybe sex.

Maybe even love.  
  
And knowing Sammy, he’d probably say there is a difference between the two. Whereever does he get shit like that? Not from me, for sure.  
  
Anyway, clearly something major was going down with my baby brother, but he wasn’t talking to anyone about it. And hell, why should he? He is a Winchester after all, right? Well, fuck that. I practically raised him. I’ve been there through every significant event of his life – his first words, his first baby steps. His first day at every one of the twenty thousand schools he’s been forced to go to in the last ten years. His first football game, his first soccer game, his first hunt, all his girlfriends… you name it, and I’ve been there. I couldn’t possibly let Sam shut me out, not now when… when I got this strange feeling in my gut that something drastic was about to happen.  
  
Sam’s never been comfortable discussing the birds and the bees with me or Dad, and the only way I ever get him to open up is by teasing him mercilessly until he gets all worked up and lets something slip. So as usual I start poking and prodding, though it didn’t result in much. Discovering the spiffy little sex toy (real high-quality stuff at that, trust me, I know) completely by accident was a turning point. Wasn’t hard putting two and two together after that, or so I _thought_.  
  
Now I don't mean this in a bad or offensive way, mind you. But truth is, my brother’s always been such a girl in more ways than I care to admit, one of those being how he always has to deep-dive into the heart of things. He analyzes, over-analyzes and just mopes about until he is totally sure he  _gets_  it. His anal-retentiveness is a plus for research and hunting, but it’s a total pain in the ass for everything else. Obviously this… older slut of a girl introduced him to certain aspects of sex that no kid his age should typically get into. He isn’t mature enough to understand what he’s feeling and has no other experiences to compare it with, and hence the moping and angsting. I  _knew_  I hated that girl the moment she set her beady eyes on Sam.  
  
So anyway, I figured Sam was struggling to understand if he was gay or bi-sexual or whatever, and I could completely empathize. Hell, I’d done some experimenting of my own when I was his age (bit younger, actually). And with an actual guy, not some girl with a gender complex and a latex strap-on picked out of a dirty catalog.

There was this… guy in class. Fourteen-year olds are so fucking dumb, and no, I’m not just referring to my idiot brother. It’s this age group in general. The only other common characteristic that surpasses their dumb-assedness is their plain old meanness. This kid, he was a loner, and everyone else called him names like half-breed and ‘cross-bro’ and shit because he was half Irish, half black. Assholes knew jack shit about shit.  
  
I thought he was beautiful.  
  
His name was Ryan, and he was like a younger, cleaner version of Malcolm Winters. You know, that guy from Young and the Restless? (Give me a break, it was just this one time, I was laid up in bed with nothing to do all day.) Anyway, I was new to the school and we became friends and… then we started fooling around (it was his idea, and that’s a lame excuse considering I gleefully went along with it, but just for the record,  _he_  started it.) We were both young, and curious, and not afraid to give anything and everything a shot at least once. And we’d both been round the block long enough to figure out what we liked and did not like and… well, let’s just say it was great while it lasted.

After we left Louisiana, he didn’t bother to keep in touch. Nor did I, what was the point - it's not like I was ever gonna see him again. But no guy ever caught my eye after Ryan. And so I just went back to boobs and clit with pleasure, and  _lots_  of it.  
  
So anyway, Sammy, yeah. I gave him all the time and space he wanted to work things out on his own. But it wasn’t easy, not for him and definitely not for me. It’s hard, just sitting there with my thumbs up my ass watching him slowly withdraw into himself… away from me, and Dad.

We moved from Arkansas to Wyoming and then to North Dakota very recently. Right on day one in Fargo, he took off, hunted down the biggest town library and the local internet browsing center all on his own. We always explored every new town together, always. And then Dad took off as well and why the hell do _I_ always get left behind waiting for the two of ‘em to grace me with their saving goddamn presence? Sometimes they can both just be so freakin’ selfish, man. I don’t understand why the two of them don’t get along better… seeing how they’re both spitting mirror images of each other – father and son. Is it spitting or splitting? Never mind, they're both capable of being high-class dicks, period.   
  
So with Sam gone and Dad gone, what was I supposed to do – stay indoors and knit? Cindy from the Laundromat is a sweet  _sweet_  girl. But when she started thinking of names for our first baby boy and girl, out loud, I figured it was time to move on. Then there was Allie from the bar and… I know Sammy isn’t too crazy about her. But she’s good in the sack and feeds me free bacon and waffles whenever I visit her at her diner. What else does a man need, right?  
  
Anyway, one of these nights I took her out and we did it in the car (oh man, it was freakin’ awesome) but I got back by midnight because, you know with Dad not around, I couldn’t possibly leave Sammy alone all night. I snuck in quietly, didn’t wanna wake him up, shrugged out of everything except my boxers and was  _this_  close to tripping over my own jeans and making a huge ruckus, but somehow managed to keep it together. The room was dark, but there was enough light filtering in through the curtains from the street lamps outside. Sam was… well, he was fast asleep at first, but then he was throwing his head this way and that, and then there was full-body writhing and whimpering like… like he was having a very,  _very_  interesting dream. The way he was moaning, at first I thought maybe it was a nightmare. But Sammy doesn’t usually have nightmares unless it is during or right after a difficult hunting trip.  
  
Think I grinned a little, and quietly slipped under my covers so as not to intrude on his happy place. Us Winchesters, we don't have the luxury of privacy - but I learned to keep some things to myself and with time, so will Sammy.

I was lying on my stomach with my head turned in the other direction because contrary to popular opinion I  _am_  capable of doing the decent thing on occasion, you know. Unfortunately, it was not going to be _this_ occasion, because soon Sammy started to mumble something in his sleep, and my ears automatically strained to collect any and all sorts of blackmail material floating my way.  
  
“Oh God. Dean… Dean…”  
  
I froze. Hell, I was petrified.  
  
“Dean… no… don’t Dean… don’t stop.”  
  
His broken voice, almost pleading and… desperate for release… damn it, there was absolutely no question left as to what, or who Sam was jacking off in his sleep to. I was stunned… I didn’t know what to do. Think I stopped breathing for a minute there because… fuck, I don’t need to explain why! This was Sam! My little brother for heaven’s sake. 

 _Sonofabitch!_  
  
Maybe I was hallucinating? Yeah, that must be it. Allie musta spiked my drink or something. I quickly turned his way to make sure, saw Sam struggling with the covers for awhile until he managed to throw them off completely, and sure enough, I saw how enormously hard he was. His boxers hung low on his hips so that his heavy sac and uhh… erection were pulled naked and free. I hadn’t seen my brother completely naked in four years. Think the last time was when he had the measles that had worsened into pneumonia, and it was the first and only time I’ve ever really yelled at Dad because he'd forgotten to get Sam his second vaccination for measles. I'd been the one to change the kid's clothes and bedsheets when they were drenched in his sweat. I was the one who sponge-bathed him after his fever broke, shaking uncontrollably all the while because I'd so nearly lost him - not to anything supernatural but to something as dull as _parental neglect._  
  
And then Sam’s ranting brought me back to the present.  
  
“This is wrong, this is bad so bad… oh God… we can’t!”  
  
I sat up in a hurry and wanted to run, just get the hell out of this suddenly suffocating room, but something held me back, like I was somehow…  _required_  to see Sammy through this. Sonofabitch, I know I’m not explainin’ this right, and I don’t much care. It was just… wrong, I know (though not really), but I just knew I couldn’t leave him alone like that.  
  
His hands were bunching up the bedsheet and his hips rose and fell to a phantom rhythm of someone pumping or possibly blowing him. I closed my eyes tight, couldn’t believe I was still hanging around shamelessly, bearing witness to an extremely private moment. The air suddenly filled with the smell of come and Sam’s arched up body fell back against the bed, limp and exhausted. I followed the heavy movement of his chest as it heaved up and down. His mouth was open and his hair slick with sweat. His… uhh…  _thing_ , already quite impressive in size by the way, was not completely limp yet and I wrenched my eyes away from him, cursing under my breath. That must have been one hell of a dream ‘cause… Sam hadn't even touched himself once.  
  
At least he’d gone back to sleep now. I slowly got up, picked the covers from the floor and tucked him in with as little actual skin contact as possible. Then I sank back into my own bed and curled up on one side because… well, watching Sammy, I’d kinda… gotten a little worked up myself.  
  
I know, I know… men are pigs.  
  
The next morning he didn’t remember anything, or maybe he did and that’s why he ran out to the library first thing in the morning. I had called up Allie and she dropped off some breakfast – fancy gourmet pancakes and fresh squeezed juice (not the canned stuff) that Sammy really likes. He didn’t even turn to look at it once.  
  
So yeah, that's how I _knew_.  
  
And that wasn’t the only time I got trapped eavesdropping on one of Sam’s wet dreams - only the first. I tried talking to him, really I did. Awkward as it was and so damn hard, I told him it was okay to be gay. I told him everyone goes through at least one really confusing time in their lives when they’re not sure who they really are, who they’re supposed to be. But that’s about as far as I got. And hey, before you judge me,  _you_  try telling  _your_  brother or sister to stop lusting after your hot ass.

What could I _possibly_ say without it getting super weird between us? Any more than it already has? 

But Sam didn’t make things any easier for me either, alright. He got jealous of Allie… man, come on. Allie? She is  _the_  chick that gave the word ‘blonde’ a whole another meaning besides the hair color. And then he goes and picks up some random guy off the street and brings him back to our room? I’m still not sure I know the whole deal there, but there hasn’t been a chance to speak to him about it yet.  
  
What did I do wrong?  
  
Did I like… coddle him too much, or too little? What was it about my uhh, what’s it called…  _parenting_  style that could’ve possibly brought this on? Like… maybe he is so attached to me he doesn’t know how to relate to anyone else? Ah hell, when has he ever been able to spend enough time with anyone else to get to know them anyway? Wish I could blame Dad for this, really I do… but haven’t come up with a justifiable logic that I can believe  _myself_  yet.  
  
Sam’s the most important person in my life and I know Dad would be really proud to hear that, even if it means John Winchester comes a close second. What he probably wouldn’t like to hear me admit is the fact that I’ve been shielding Sam from _him_. Yeah.

Sam’s a relatively well-adjusted kid, given our...  _special_  circumstances. He’s so smart, he’s a gunner, straight A’s, and even when he’s missed a couple of months here and there, it’s ridiculously easy for him to make it up. This year we even got him enrolled in the AP programs at his new school in Fargo.  
  
Oh alright, so he’s a geek. But he’s an  _okay_  geek. He’s not like a sociopath or something… far as I can tell. He makes friends when he wants to, but mostly he doesn’t bother because you never know when Dad might order us to pack up our shit and drive on, and I get that, I do. It's called self-preservation and it probably runs in the family. Hell, I might be repressed (yeah, I know what that means), and Dad isn’t exactly a picture of sound mental health either. But all things considered, I think we’ve done a better than average job of keeping it as real and normal as possible for Sammy. I’ve protected my little brother from John Winchester’s direct psychosis like freakin’  _sunblock_. But apparently, something still went wrong.  
  
I messed up. And now I don’t know how to fix it… if it can be fixed at all.  
  
Can’t talk to Dad about this. Ghosts, evil vengeful spirits and monsters, he understands. This… he won’t, and I’m not going to bother him with it either. Think the man’s still in mourning, still too overwhelmed by his own grief to be able to handle anyone else’s sordid emotional issues. Besides, it would just be another stupid reason for the two of them to be at each other’s throats again. Just another reason for Dad to push Sam away and maybe this time, this time he would push too hard and too far.  
  
No, I can’t let that happen.  
  
Sometimes I think I’m the only thing keeping this dysfunctional family together.  
  
Alright, let’s think about this rationally. Sam thinks he’s gay – that’s fine. Awesome, live and let love, I say. Sam is crushing on me – yikes. But perfectly understandable because, let’s be honest here, I  _am_  insanely gorgeous. And maybe I should just let things play themselves out, you know. I’m the only guy he’s really known so far. But if he were to go out on a couple of dates with boys his own age, explore the world outside and leave the nest, so to speak… maybe that would take the spotlight off of me. Right?  
  
And what if it doesn’t?  
  
Come on Dean, surely you’re not  _that_  insanely gorgeous.  
  
Maybe I should push him to socialize more. Help him meet some guys, it’s really not that different from introducing him to girls really. I bet I would have done that sooner or later, but Sammy turned out to be three steps ahead of me and bagged himself a cheerleader all on his own! That’s my boy. The fact that she turned out to be a kinky cradle snatcher is a whole ‘nother issue. But see once he gets laid, by a real man and not a rubber dildo he is sure to…  
  
Dude! What the fuck am I saying?  
  
He’s freakin’ fifteen! (Still couple months to go until his next birthday so yeah,  _still_  fifteen!) You can’t just let kids that age go out and sleep with other kids!

But I did it… nobody bothered to stop me and I’m fine. Right?  
  
Uh, no. NO. Scratch that. Bad idea.  _I’m_  bothered and _I’m_ not letting Sammy take any risks. But then I can’t not do anything. Left him alone to deal with this asinine problem once and look what he almost got himself into. Stupid moron was buck naked and locked in a room with a prick thrice his age! Alright twice his age,  _point_  is… Sam cannot be trusted to deal with this thing responsibly on his own. And I shouldn’t be expecting it of him either.  
  
God, he's just a kid!

 

***

 

“You’re right. He is just a kid.”  
  
Startled, I turn towards the man who is just coming back in through the door. I’d been standing around here in his room, waiting for Dad to finish up his call that he had to take outside (and out of my earshot). I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud, am just glad he didn’t hear anything else I might have let slip out earlier.  
  
“And he looks pretty shaken up to me tonight. He should’ve gotten out of the way of the truck with good time to spare, but he didn’t. What did you guys fight about?”  
  
// Oh God. Don’t ask me that, Dad, I can’t tell you. //  
  
I look away, swallowing in an attempt to buy some time but nothing comes to mind. In the end I decide to go with the truth. Sort of.  
  
“It’s just another Sammy-thing, nothing serious. Maybe I should just let him tell you, if he wants to, that is. Sorry, Dad.”  
  
He smiles, and nods. Guess he’s really exhausted tonight; hasn’t pulled rank on me about this so far.  
  
“It’s okay. I’m sure you’ll take care of it, whatever it is. Put him down yet?”  
  
I roll my eyes. “Yes, he’s sleeping, but you’ve got to stop saying that Dad. He’s not three, we don’t have to tuck him in at night anymore.”  
  
Dad has the gall to laugh at me. Then he comes over and squeezes my right shoulder as I stand with my arms crossed by the couch, absently hugging myself.  
  
“Sorry, Deano. I don’t mean to embarrass you or Sammy; you know that. Just habit, I guess. You’ve taken care of your brother all these years, and done such a great job of it too.” He smiles oddly at me. “You take care of  _me_.”  
  
_Holy mother of…_  what is wrong with this family tonight? I look away, in no mood to get caught up in the strong whirlwinds of emotion I see gathering in my father’s eyes. Think he takes the hint and drops his hand, then walks over to the bed.  
  
“It’s nearly midnight. You should go rest. We have to leave by seven in the morning so we can get to St. Cloud by noon.”  
  
I move to obey, but then I have to halt.  
  
“Dad?”  
  
“Yeah…”  
  
“Can… can I sleep here in your room? I’ll take the couch if you don’t mind.”  
  
He frowns. “Why? You guys are not still fighting are you?”  
  
I just shrug and hope it looks convincing enough. He has his secrets, and I have mine.  
  
“I’m just afraid one of us might off the other in his sleep if I go back in there.”  
  
Dad lets loose a short chuckle, it’s so wonderful to see him smile even if it’s a really brief one – he does it so rarely these days.  
  
“Okay. But I don’t want you sleeping on that rickety old thing and wake up sore all over. Come here, there’s enough space for the both of us.”  
  
Yikes. I didn’t mean to trouble him, so I backtrack deciding maybe I should just go back to my own room after all.  
  
“Dad, it’s okay I…”  
  
“Dean. You might not agree, but to me you’re  _both_  still kids. You’re  _my_  kids.”  
  
He fixes me with this… expectant look, his eyes are trying to tell me something and I don’t know if I’m downloading any of it.  
  
I am twenty years old. I have seen things no guy my age is supposed to even know about, let alone be hunting them down on a weekly basis. My hobbies include bow hunting, knife throwing, long-range shooting and tae kwon do. I am not a virgin in any freakin’ sense of the word, and I’ve probably had more alcohol go through my body in the last six years than Dad has in all his years of mourning Mom’s death.  
  
But when Dad is looking at me like that... I find myself walking over to the other side of his king-sized bed and getting rid of my shoes and flannel shirt.  
  
John Winchester may not win the father of the year award any time soon. But I know it takes guts and a superhuman fortitude to walk the path he walks, and take on the battles that he fights every day on behalf of those who cannot defend themselves. He did it as a Marine, now he does it as a hunter even when he very rarely gets a 'thank you' for it. He sacrificed so damn much, and not just for revenge… but an honest need to make sure no more lives are lost to the mindless supernatural evil that exists in this world.

So fuck normal. I will take this father with all his pain and grief and obsessive paranoia over the white picket fences any damn day.  
  
Dad continues to pore over the research stuff while I let my thoughts wander back to the boy sleeping next door. I wonder what Mom would do if she were alive and came to know about Sammy’s… er… condition. Questions about morality, and heaven and hell would surely have risen because Mary Winchester, for one, was a believer, and look what it bought her. Anyway. One thing’s for sure though… she wouldn’t want me to sit around and wait for Sam to go throw himself in front of another perv or another truck again.  
  
Think I’m reciting Dante to myself inside my head as I slowly sink into a deep, dreamless sleep. I almost always sleep like that, but the catch is that I also wake up at the slightest of disturbances, like I do when I feel someone pulling up the covers around me. Think I must’ve smirked because I hear Dad muttering softly... something that sounds very much like ‘smartass’... and then I drift back to sleep.

 

***

  
I wake up the next morning at exactly five forty without the need of an alarm clock. I must have rolled onto my stomach like I usually do at night, and I realize my head has been crushing Dad’s shoulder. As gently as I can, I pull away from him and head back to the room next door to check on Sammy. Maybe now’s the time to explain why I couldn’t go back to him the night before, or whenever he wakes up, that is, because I just know he's noticed and is going to be reading _way_ too much into it. But man, I still cannot find the right words to… to admit what a fucking loser I’ve turned out to be.  
  
Me and Sam… we’re gonna have to work our way through a lot of awkward, uncomfortable moments and have... conversations. Conversations I don’t know if I’m ready to handle right now. I don’t want to hurt him, which I’m sure I will. Also, Sammy can be a downright little bitch when he’s not getting his way and I don’t want to lose my temper again and say something I’d regret later. I might as well have pushed him in front of Dad’s truck with my own two hands last night… God knows I couldn’t possibly withstand a repeat of that. Watching Sammy fall, with his head inches away from the truck’s bumper… knowing it was my fault he was there…  
  
_Sonofabitch_.  
  
Seems like every time I get sloppy, or even mildly selfish… the fucking universe tries to teach me a lesson by hurting the people I love. After that child molester Shritga demon nearly got Sammy, I swore to myself I would never, ever let that happen again. And yet here we are, in the aftermath of another major fuckup by the  _very_  incompetent Dean Winchester. I don’t know if I can ever face him again, which of course I have to.  
  
Who else is gonna wake the big louse up?  
  
I enter the room, close the door and the first thing to catch my eye is the bag of food that stands exactly where I’d left it last night. Stupid little kid, what do you get from starving yourself, huh? Classic bitch-style manipulation. I shake my head in exasperation and convince myself that it’s not my fucking fault and it’s just Sam being a little bitchy idiot. I decide to give him another ten minutes in la la land and pull out our duffel bags to pack essentials for the trip.

That's when I realize Sam is already awake.  
  
There is a certain pattern to his breathing when he’s sound asleep, and a ‘fakin it’ routine of his where he freezes up and stops breathing completely to pretend that he is asleep but obviously isn’t. I turn back toward his bed.  
  
“Sammy? You up?”  
  
“…”  
  
The light of dawn is enough for me to see that he is trembling under the covers. Everything else forgotten, I scurry over to his side worried, even though I think I already know the reason.  
  
“Hey… you okay?”  
  
I can distinctly make out some muffled sniveling, and I want to kick myself where it hurts like hell. His voice, when he speaks, is soft and wet and yet… eerily even.  
  
“I wouldn’t have tried anything.”  
  
I wince, let loose a soft “Duh” but that’s about as eloquent as I can manage. Does he really think I’m afraid of him or something? Fifteen-year olds, I tell ya.  
  
“Did you sleep at all?”  
  
He turns toward me then, his eyes brimming with water and...  _God_ … I don’t know what to do.  
  
“Where were you?”  
  
I swallow. “Me and Dad were studying the research you put together until midnight after which I, sort of fell asleep in his bed.”  
  
He nods like he knows I am lying, then just as quietly turns away from me. Sam looks so small, curled up on his side like he used to when he was little and tried to hide a tummy ache from me. Damnit I can’t stand to see him like this. I hate feeling so goddamn useless.  
  
_Help me out here, Mom. Please_.  
  
I put a tentative hand on his arm, and he flinches. Hard.  
  
“Sammy… I’m sorry about last night. I wasn’t freaking out because of… what happened, I promise. It’s just that, I don’t know how to fix this. Please… tell me what to do.”  
  
He swallows, his fledgling-sized Adam’s apple bobbing once, eyes never wavering from the spot in endless space that he’s been staring at all this time.  
  
I wait, but I don’t need to for too long.  
  
“Don’t touch me.” He says.  


  
***

  
  
Fucking dumb-ass fifteen year olds.  
  
This is the same kid that, up until three months ago, used to crawl into my bed at night, shaken up from a really bad dream. And he would push and pull and freakin’  _snuggle_  until he had me completely wrapped around his industrial chiller of a body, and did I ever complain? I let his bony knees and elbows jab me in my ribs and my jaw and other… unmentionable places, and granted he’s a friggin’ girl in more ways than I care to admit, but the base model is still very much male, right?  
  
Didn’t he  _get_  it?  
  
And yet did  _I_  ever tell him not to fucking  _touch_  me?  
  
We’re in the car now, following Dad in his truck on highway 94 toward the heart of Minnesota. Sam is sitting as far away from me as possible. He hasn’t spoken a word to me since… earlier that morning. I am biting down on my chapped lips and playing AC/DC way too loud and there still hasn’t been a single squeak of protest.  
  
We reach St. Cloud around eleven just as planned and stop for a quick bite. He looks at the menu and just shrugs but I know he must be totally famished ‘cause he hasn’t eaten anything since last night. I order him a double club sandwich and a salad with root beer, his favorite combination that he chows down like I knew he would. All without a single damn word. 

 _You’re welcome, little brother_.

Usually food does wonders to everyone’s general disposition in this family, but not Sammy. Nope, he still insists on sulking so,  _fine_. Whatever. His silence is not bugging me.  
  
Not at all.  
  
We get to the library about an hour later. Dad’s taken off and left me and Sam to look for old Indian rituals and stuff that we might need to get rid of what he thinks is a Wendigo. Now I have never seen one before and this is all brand new stuff for me so obviously I’m mighty enthused. Sammy Raincloud on the other hand, couldn’t be bothered less, but at least he’s doing his job right. He works on the computer while I bury myself in the dusty old books, damn near nodding off when _at last_ he speaks.  
  
“I found something.”  
  
Thank God he isn’t looking at me right now ‘cause I probably look like a lost puppy that’s just been found by his people. I push myself up, and walk over to the terminal, lean over him as close as I dare to (don’t want to invite the bitch-face again) to read whatever it is he’s pointing at. His voice glides over me like a cool breeze in the desert and I don’t ever want him to shut up.  
  
He thinks there might be not one but two of these cannibals, one closer to the Boundary Waters forests and another one further north in the Voyageurs. The timestamps on a couple of incidents back in the sixties are way too close to each other to be sequential and not even a Wendigo could travel that distance fast enough. Besides, it doesn’t fit their typical MO either.  
  
I lean closer to read more when he coughs softly, and swivels away from me. I’m not going to get into how much this is wigging me out, and just keep studying the article as he stands up and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets.  
  
“I… gotta take a leak.”  
  
And then he’s gone. I gulp back a scream of frustration, and maybe some tears as well. Slide into the seat he was in and concentrate on the screen with as much intensity as I can muster. Sammy might be right on the two Wendigos theory (hell there might even be more than two - who knows), but we need to run this by Dad when he returns. I glance at the taskbar on the computer screen and there are a couple other windows that Sam has left open, probably also for me. So I decide to take a look.  
  
Shouldn’t have.  
  
I really do want to scream now, and punch something, hard. My guts are twisted into impossibly tight knots… nothing supernatural has ever scared me this much.  
  
I am losing him. I am losing the most important person in my life, and there is not a  _damn_  thing I can do to stop it.  
  
  
***

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Alright we're back to Sam POV for now. Still in 1998 btw, hence the slightly archaic pop culture references. Thanks to everyone who's reading and for suspending disbelief long enough to indulge this :)  
> Also - um, it seems many folks are friending me over at LJ. I'm not all that active there (or anywhere tbh), so the sudden uptick there makes me wonder if they're looking for the older version of this story? If so, I'm very sorry guys - took it down for a significant rewrite. There were just way too many errors, typos and inconsistencies and such. Thanks for your patience, I'm trying to get this up as fast as RL would let me. Cheers!

_**Fargo, North Dakota.  
November 1998  
** _

_******************************* _  
  
  
_Hey Nat,  
  
What’s up? I see you finally got yourself an email address, that’s cool. You have no idea how great it is to hear from you. And yeah, Netscape rules LOL.  
  
Fargo sucks. It’s always cold and wet and I haven’t started school yet so there’s nothing to do, wish you were here. LOL Get it? Nothing to ‘do’? Okay, I know, bad one. Dean’s better at this.  
_

_Dean’s… yeah he’s okay. I don’t want to talk about him. Don’t smirk. Your nose pinches up and makes you look like Bette Midler from Hocus Pocus. Seriously.  
  
All right, I admit, you were right. About my brother and me. And now he knows, and he’s totally freaking out. It's impossible being around him anymore, so much that sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe. He keeps talking about wanting to FIX this. Like I’ve contracted a medieval disease and he just needs to find the right pills to stuff down my throat to make it magically go away. I can’t put him through this anymore. And honestly, I don’t think I can take any more of this myself.  
  
So I guess, my answer to your question is ‘HELL YEAH!’ Are you totally sure it’d be okay if I stayed with you for a while? I don’t want to intrude, and it’s totally cool if you change your mind later. I can always make other arrangements. So you wanna keep me tied up in your room and use me as your sex slave whenever you want to, huh? Sounds razor :) So long as you remember to feed me three meals a day. LOL.  
  
Soon as school starts, I’ll talk to the counselor and find out how to apply to colleges early. Like you said, I’m a freakin’ genius LOL and if Hawkins is right, UCLA will be only too happy to have me. But you know what, even if that does not work out, I still wanna come see you, so SO much. You know my dad and I don’t get along much anyway. And now with this thing between Dean and me… I guess what I’m saying is, Nat, you make me feel what I don’t feel with my family anymore. Wanted.  
  
And I promise I’ll find a way to make it all up to you, any way that you want. Will keep you posted on how it goes.  
  
Take care.  
  
~S.W_  
  
  
***  
  
“I… gotta take a leak.”  
  
Sam walked away from the workstation with hurried steps and left Dean to go through the research he’d put together. The dangerous nearness of Dean to his own hyper-sensitized body, the scent of gunpowder and cheap musk that clung to his brother twenty-four-seven was fucking with his mind, and he just had to get out.  
  
Once again, he found himself missing the cheerleader. She always kept a pack of smokes around, hell she was the one who got him smoking in the first place. And in principle, Sam was totally against it, of course. But in his current state of mind, anything and everything that had the potential of breaking him away from the Winchester way of life, not to mention make Dean really really mad, seemed like a good idea.  
  
He opened the door to a cubicle in the restroom, locked it behind him and sat down heavily on the toilet seat with his head lowered into his hands.  
  
How the hell was he ever going to get himself out of this mess?  
  
He’d wracked his brain this way and that, but no solution seemed feasible except one – to run away. Get away from Dean and his ridiculous, unnatural hold over Sam’s mind, body and… and heart. Without intent, Sam started to rock back and forth a little, tugging at the bangs on the top of his head furiously.  
  
Dean had known. And he had chosen to do nothing, say nothing. Obviously he was hoping for it to be a minor crush, or maybe just a freakish lust thing all boys give into now and again. Like for a teacher, a friend’s hot mom or dashing dad. All of those were _supposedly_ wrong. But maybe lusting after one’s own flesh and blood was just a little bit more eyebrow-raising than the usual suspects.

On the other hand, there was nothing  _usual_  about their lives, so why should their love lives be, correct?  
  
Sam gulped hard. It wasn’t Dean’s fault… it was nobody’s fault, he told himself over and over, understanding and yet refusing to accept it.  
  
// Sure, it’s not his fault he doesn’t love you. It’s  _yours_ , you’re not worth the trouble. //  
  
Sam hissed as if in physical pain and wringed his hands together. He was after all just a kid: skinny, gangly, downright clumsy. Nothing like the pretty, petite and curvaceous blondes Dean usually went out with. But he also knew that Dean didn’t really discriminate against any particular type. He’d often thought of his big brother as a limitless sexual being. Dean used to joke about it himself, how he’d fuck pretty much anything in a skirt. Sam smiled sardonically at a brief mental snapshot of himself in a short red skirt before shaking his head like a dog to push the image away. He really was getting desperate, wasn’t he?  
  
// Get a grip Winchester. Get a fucking grip. //  
  
He took a couple of deep breaths and got out of the restroom. Dean must have gone through all the research Sam had dug up by now. Digging his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans, he sauntered back to their corner of the library, where Dean now stood with Dad talking in hurried words. He frowned and walked toward them. John saw him approaching but continued to speak to Dean. Dean on the other hand… Sam noticed how Dean’s eyes followed his every step, every move… clearly not listening as intently to John anymore.  
  
“Dean??”  
  
Dean turned back to his father with a start. “Sorry, yeah.”  
  
Sam reached them in a few more lazy strides, and for the first time in almost, _ever_ , he went to stand by Dad’s side, instead of Dean’s. John couldn’t have noticed or cared less where Sam chose to stand, but Dean apparently did. The look his big brother gave him was fucking precious. On top of that, Sam made it a point to ignore him completely, turning cockishly to John.  
  
“You were saying?”  
  
But John saw right through his act and frowned. “Are you two still fighting?”  
  
“…”  
  
John practically growled. “How many times do I have to tell you boys? We have to function as a single cohesive unit on every job. How can we do it if you two keep squabbling like six-year olds?”  
  
Dean looked away and bit his lip; Sam just dug his hands deeper into his pockets and rocked on his feet, looking nowhere in general.

John sighed again. “Alright, what’s going on?”  
  
“Nothing.” They both sulked in unison, then glared at each other only to look away again.  
  
“Boys…” there was a warning tone in John’s voice this time, and Dean was alarmed enough to respond to it.  
  
“It’s nothing, Dad. We’ll sort it out, don’t worry. You were telling us about your talk with the sheriff.”  
  
John sighed again, but let it go. Like he had a choice. He couldn’t possibly order them to tell him what was going on. Well, maybe he could coerce Dean into it, eventually, but Sam would fight him tooth and nail and John so did not have the energy for it right now. In the end, he probably decided to trust Dean with it and concentrate on the job instead.  
  
“Alright then. So from two different eyewitness accounts, we know they’re Wendigos for sure. The disappearances go back more than a hundred years. I spoke to the sheriff who happens to be a descendant of the Dakota Indians. Had to prod him a little until he told me about this legend…”  
  
// Story time. What fun. //  
  
But Dean was hooked.  
  
“Back in the 1860s the Dakota tribe was starving to death. Land treaties with the new state government had failed miserably, and the trade policies were just as bad, so much that the natives were left with no choice but to fight. He said…”  
  
Alright, so Sam was curious too, “… said what?”  
  
John sighed. “The Dakota chief had two sons leading the rebellion. They say the two of them together were like a force of nature, unbeatable. They got rid of a whole regiment of cavalry single-handedly, and killed more than fifty white settlers inhabiting what was once their land. But there is a second legend that says they didn’t just kill them…”  
  
John paused and Dean finished his father’s sentence. “… they  _ate_  them.”  
  
John nodded. “Which we know is how Wendigos come into being. They’re cannibals, feeding on human flesh that gives them super-strength and immortality. And once they got addicted, they just couldn’t stop. Couldn’t tell friend from foe, couldn’t care either way. When the chief found out, he kicked his sons out of the tribe and apparently, this is where they made their new home.”  
  
Sam frowned. “The pattern of the disappearances indicates two distinct areas where they’re attacking. And that’s at two opposite ends of the forest. What does that mean?”  
  
“It means they’re not hunting together," said Dean. "At some point they must have split up.”  
  
Sam looked at Dean, surreptitiously, but he needn’t have bothered. Dean’s eyes were focused at absolutely nothing as he continued to speculate.  
  
“According to Sam’s research, the incidents in and around the Boundary Waters area are at approximate intervals of about twelve years. But the one at the Voyageurs end feeds every twenty years or so. It’s why the killings have only coincided twice, like after every… sixty years?”  
  
Dean looked toward Sam for confirmation, of his math or his research or maybe both… Sam didn’t much care. He nodded curtly without looking at Dean.  
  
John nodded too. “That means the Voyageur guy is probably stronger because he needs to feed less. We go after the other one first.”  
  
“Also because, since the other one's only fed like a year ago, he must be deep in hibernation right now. Might be easier to take sleepyhead out.” Dean was only half-kidding as he looked at John’s face but was relieved to see John nod in agreement.

Sam scoffed silently as he witnessed the exchange… Dean and his fucking need for Dad’s approval. He was so damn predictable it wasn’t even worth ribbing him about anymore because Sam knew exactly how Dean would react to  _that_  too.  
  
“He’s bound to wake up if we get close, these things have supernatural senses. In fact their hearing is so strong…”  
  
Beat.

Sam didn’t need to look at his family to know they all realized what he was getting at. Could their hearing really be so strong? Could their gunfire really wake the second monster up from eighty miles away? John put his fists on his hips and looked keenly at his sons.  
  
“Together, we can take one out. But if the second one comes out to play, we get the hell out of there. Clear?”  
  
“Clear.” The boys said in unison once more, and again glared at each other. This echoing each other was turning into a goddamn annoyance.

***

After lunch the Winchesters went about stocking up on ammo and silencers for every gun and rifle they planned to use. Buckshots, iron shots, flare shots, and whatever symbols of protection they could find at the nearby reservation. The sheriff turned out to be a believer, and helped out as much as he could. Dean, who usually wasn’t the scribing type, sat and made diligent notes in Dad’s journal adding to the Wendigo lore John had started in there.

Sam had an inkling Dean was just trying to keep himself busy, too busy to worry about his idiot little brother and his idiotic little problem. Fair enough, he rued. Sam only wished he too could distract himself just as easily.  
  
Something about the two-Wendigo-theory kept bugging him though. Enough to forget he was supposed to be giving big brother the silent treatment.  
  
“Why do you think they split up?”  
  
They were driving towards Boundary Waters, Dean and Sam in the Impala, following Dad’s truck ahead. Dean actually started at the sound of Sam's voice. He spared a shuttered glance at his brother before quickly turning back to the road. Then he shrugged.  
  
“Maybe they had a fight.”  
  
“…”  
  
“Maybe the kid bro decided he didn’t need his bossy big brother anymore.”  
  
Sam scowled and reacted on reflex. “Maybe the big brother was an asshole.”  
  
Dean smirked, and Sam realized his mistake… he’d slid back into their usual sibling bantering like it was just another regular conversation.  
  
“Sometimes big brothers just can’t help it, Sammy. It’s like a default factory setting. Hard to override.”  
  
Sam swallowed, hard, and continued to look out his window; wondering if maybe he should accept the self-deprecation as perhaps, Dean’s peace offering. But what could that possibly buy him? Nothing. He’d still be hopelessly in love and Dean would still be hopelessly incapable to return it. Sam had always craved for normal, for as long back as he could remember. But the last few weeks had lent themselves to the biggest epiphany of Sam’s life… when it came to Dean… normal was the last thing he’d ever want.  
  
Sam rejected the olive branch. He did not turn to look at his brother, instead just yanked up the volume and let Zeppelin do the talking for rest of the way. If Dean was surprised by Sam's sudden newfound appreciation for heavy metal, or crushed by his continued sullenness, he didn't show it.

***

 

They reached the Boundary Waters forest with about a couple hours of daylight left, which wasn’t good if you asked Sam, but John would never ask him anyway. John waited with a map spread out on the bonnet of his truck as Dean parked and the brothers got out. Sam peered at the X that marked a spot – the cliffs with their underground caves – which made sense since monsters and demons clearly didn’t do trees. The caves were the only possible hideout.  
  
“Are you serious?” Sam exclaimed, “You really think building a fire outside the cave and smoking him out right into our faces is a good idea?”  
  
Dean and John both stared at Sam like he’d lost his mind. Obviously Dad’s plan had to work. It always worked. When it didn’t, he just switched to Plan B. Which always worked too.  
  
“Sam, I’m going to ask you one last time. Is this going to be a problem? If yes, you can get back in the Impala and wait for us here.”  
  
Sam pursed his lips. “I just think…”  
  
“You got a better idea?”  
  
“Blow up the whole cliff with RDX?”  
  
Which was a horrible idea and Sam knew it. Who knew how deep and wide the caves went. The Wendigo could escape still, not to mention an explosion of such a high magnitude would cause the other Wendigo to also come after them.  
  
John glowered. “A feasible one,  _son_.”  
  
// The only feasible thing to do is to get the hell out of here,  _Dad_. I don’t wanna do this. //  
  
But he would, as always. Sam just pouted and looked back at the map. John glared at him another two seconds, then hurled up the giant bundle of logs over a shoulder.  
  
“Let’s go.”  
  
They had to move really quietly, lest the monster woke up before they were in position. When they reached the outer periphery of the caves, the boys got to work. They drew out a circular area with a stick, marking the edges with old Indian symbols that would act as protective sigils. Meanwhile John laid out the log of woods at the entrance of the cave and doused them with enough gasoline to make one hell of a ginormous smoke bomb. Once done, the Winchesters took position, John on one end, Dean on the other and Sam in the middle, surrounding the cave but standing within the protective circle. John quickly glanced at his sons once before flicking open his Zippo.  
  
“Now remember, this thing moves as fast as lightning. If he escapes now, it will be very hard to track him down again.”  
  
The sun was almost down, leaving them with nothing more than the mellow light of dusk. Sam fidgeted, turned to look at Dean but the older brother didn’t look back. Dean’s eyes were transfixed, at the tiny sparks of fire starting to grow bigger and burn brighter. The direction of the soft breeze ensured the smoke seeped through every nook and corner of the cave and headed further downward.

About ten minutes later, they got their wish.  
  
John was the first to notice a super-fast blur silhouetted by the fire’s glow.  
  
“There!!”  
  
Three rifles opened fire and two hit the target repeatedly. Soft popping sounds of triggered buckshots filled the air, and interspersed, they could hear the low, incessant growling of an angry Wendigo. But the assault didn’t stop the blur from leaping across the wall of fire and rushing right towards the boys.

Sam took a step back reflexively, before realizing the monster was swerving away from the protective symbols. Exhaling in relief, he started firing again. But it was no use. The Wendigo was way too fast and disappeared into the thick of the woods.  
  
“Damn it!” Dean hissed, still keeping the gun craned in the direction he’d spotted the Wendigo last in. Silence fell, and the hunters stood almost holding their breaths. But the Wendigo did not return to pick up the fight they hoped it would.  
  
“He’s hit.” John whispered, not liking this one bit. “We must finish it now before it goes completely dark.”

He turned towards his boys. “Sam, you come with me. Dean you go east and we’ll…”  
  
“No!” Sam interrupted,  _loudly_ , and once more Dean’s jaw practically hit the floor before John could express his rage.  
  
“What did you say?”  
  
“I’m staying with Dean.”  
  
Sam deliberately avoided Dean’s intense gaze directed toward him. He couldn’t look back at him, couldn’t hide the absolute panic bubbling up his throat that would surely be showing on his face by now. He knew John’s logic was most likely to relieve Dean of the responsibility of watching out for Sam. But he’d had enough of being treated like a kid and a liability on every hunt so far. And with a Wendigo on the loose that could easily rip all three of them to shreds, like  _hell_  was he about to leave Dean’s side. 

And this wasn't an emotional decision, but a rational, coldly logical one: in a showdown with the biggest monster of their lives yet, if Sam had to place bets on who'd be the last man standing, hands down he'd choose John. Which meant Dean needed his back watched more.   
  
“Dad, it’s okay," Dean mediated in a low voice. "We’ll be fine.”  
  
John could only scowl, hard-pressed for time. “We will talk about this later. I’ll take west. Stay in my sight at all times.”  
  
And he took off. Sam trailed after Dean in the other direction, alert and cautious because they were about to leave the protective circle.  
  
  
***

“Dean?”  
  
“…”  
  
“Dean!”  
  
Dean turned around and shushed him roughly, angry that Sam was making unnecessary noise. They’d been trying to track the wounded monster for almost ten minutes now.  
  
“Keep it down moron, and let me focus.”  
  
Sam hissed back, “Don’t you think it’s odd the Wendigo is as quiet as us?”  
  
“What?”

"It's angry, it's wounded, and it's probably looking forward to make a meal of us. So why doesn't it call for backup?"

"Not following," Dean replied, focused on their surroundings more than Sam's train of thought. 

“I mean, it’s almost like... like _it_ doesn’t want the other one to wake up and come here either.”  
  
Dean looked back at him. “What are you telling me, Sammy?”  
  
Sam inhaled deeply. “I think I know why the brothers split up.”  
  
_// And once they got addicted, they just couldn’t stop. Couldn’t tell friend from foe, couldn’t care either way… //_  
  
Sam didn’t wait to explain, time was running out fast. He yanked the suppressor off his shotgun and pointed it upwards. Dean turned around just in time to see Sam shoot two warning rounds into the sky.  
  
“Sam! What the…?”  
  
The mental pieces clicked and fell into place at last. Dean yanked his own silencer off and yelled for Dad at the top of his voice, though the older man was already running back towards them at the sound of the gunfire.  
  
“What the hell are you two doing?”  
  
“No time! We have to get back inside the circle!”  
  
Together they ran back toward the caves, keenly aware that the jungle surrounding them, which had been silent as death itself a minute ago, was now abuzz with primal fear and excitement in the air. Birds, insects, coyotes… nothing and no one was silent anymore. Hell, it was goddamn deafening. And it was about to do the trick.  
  
A large blur swept downwards from a tree gunning for Sam directly.  
  
“Sam!”  
  
Dean pushed him hard, sending the boy stumbling into the protective circle where he landed on his knees once more, scraping them against the frozen solid ground of the cliff. Dean ran backwards, shooting at the Wendigo again and again, until it changed course and veered back into the thick of some trees. John caught Sam’s elbow and roughly pulled him up on his feet, still not completely sure what they were doing.  
  
“What gives, Sammy?”  
  
The answer came not from Sam, but from the terrible, gut-wrenching howls of pain and rage emanating from right behind the trees. The Winchesters shifted sideways, and in the dim light, everything became clear. The first Wendigo lay prone on the ground as a second one… the other  _brother_ … crouched beside him… devouring him.  
  
Sam flinched and looked away.

The Dakota brothers must have gone their separate ways back when they still had a little humanity left inside their rotting human shells. They must have realized that one day, the monsters were bound to turn on each other. So they made a pact to avoid each other, keep out of each other’s way and hunting grounds as well. That is until now, when the Winchesters had created enough commotion to wake the both of them up at the same time.  
  
“Dean…” John whispered, “… flare gun.”  
  
Dean pulled one out from under his jacket and calmly handed it over. John waited until he was sure the first one was permanently ingested, then took aim and released the trigger.  
  
Sam didn’t bother to look at Dad after hunts anymore; he knew exactly what he’d see in the grieving man’s face. Instead he watched Dean, his smooth, angelic features with the colors of fire carelessly flittering across them… and a cold satisfaction thinly filming the pupils of his eyes.  
  
  
***

John entered the motel room last, letting Dean and Sam in first for a quick debrief which, Sam knew from past experience, was not going to be so quick this time. Sam rolled his eyes and went to sit down at the nearest bed, desperately wanting to get off his hurting feet.  
  
“Did I say you could be at ease, Samuel?”  
  
Sam scowled but complied; he didn’t really wish to try his father any more tonight. Gingerly he stood up and assumed position. Dean stood a couple of feet behind him, arms crossed in front of his chest.  
  
“I don’t see what the problem is, I was right, wasn’t I?”  
  
“That is not the point and you know it.”  
  
“Oh sure. Ignore the big win and go after the inconsequentials just so you can have the pleasure of yelling at me.”  
  
“This is not the first time you’ve defied orders, Sam, just the first time we were lucky enough you didn’t get one of us nearly killed because of it!”  
  
Sam gulped, despite knowing John was exaggerating… he  _was_ , right?  
  
“I just wanted to…”  
  
“You  _wanted_??” John growled, taking a step closer into Sam’s personal space, as if he wasn't intimidating enough from ten yards away. Sam flinched, so slightly only Dean could have noticed it.  
  
“It’s  _always_  about what you want. When you want. How you want and to  _hell_  with the mission and everything else! How can you be so selfish, Sam?”  
  
Dean chose that moment to intervene. Maybe he’d sensed that Sam was about to burst and he was. “Dad, I think…”  
  
“You bastard.”  
  
Dean winced, turning towards Sam. “Sam, watch your mouth…”  
  
“You’re calling  _me_  selfish? All our lives you have dragged us all over the fucking country for a revenge that’s meant to make  _you_  feel better about _yourself_! So you can prove to some demon you’re a bigger badass than him and  _I’m_  selfish??”  
  
“She wasn’t just my wife, Sam, she was also your mother! I cannot believe how ungrateful you…”  
  
“STOP IT!! BOTH OF YOU!!”  
  
Dean hardly ever raised his voice to his dad. So when he did, both John and Sam had to acknowledge that the situation was dead serious and they absolutely had to comply for Dean’s sake, if not for each other.   
  
“Dad, lay off him will you? His hunch was very useful to the mission today. No one got hurt or killed so just let it go, will you?”  
  
And now Sam and John were both genuinely stunned into silence. Dean Winchester, standing up to John Winchester? Actually disagreeing with him? Supporting  _Sam_?  
  
Sam blinked twice, disbelieving, but the silent euphoria didn’t last long because of what Dean said next.  
  
“But I agree, Sam did disobey you, Dad. And there is a fixed penalty for insubordination in this family, right? So why don’t you just use that and be done with it already?”  
  
“But…”  
  
One seething glare from Dean and Sam shut up. He huffed and glared back in return at John, who was already at his tether’s end with his youngest. The arguments were happening more and more and Sam was getting more and more stubborn and reluctant to stand down. Bet the marine in him almost hated the fact that Sam was his son, or else he would have fixed that attitude right up with a long drawn lesson in military-approved suffering.  
  
“Dad, come on… for me, please?”  
  
John and Dean stared each other down, a silent exchange that Sam could only witness from the outside but never be part of. He knew that where he saw nothing but coldness and anger in their father’s face, Dean saw a whole lot more. He scoffed, and let the two hash it out, looked away about to sink back onto the bed when John spoke up.  
  
“We’re not done yet.”  
  
Sam sighed, stood back up in attention.  
  
“Three hundred pushups at o-five hundred, and _I’m_ supervising.”  
  
Whatever. Sam looked away, still too angry to trust his tongue to respond.  
  
“And for now, corner. Sixty minutes. Get to it.”  
  
That was unexpected. Sam looked up at John – furious and humiliated beyond words at the childish punishment, and even more so because Dean was standing right there. Watching him intently.  
  
“Fuck that! I’m not eight, Dad.”  
  
John growled again. “You will learn to do what I tell you to do, boy, off-mission or not, or so God help me…”  
  
Dean looked upwards, his shoulders about to droop in utter resignation when John started advancing toward Sam. He sprang into action instantly. “Dad, wait! I’ll handle this. Come on, Sam.”  
  
He took Sam by the shoulders, who tried to shrug him off. But Dean’s hands were warm and strong and gripping him tightly, but not painfully.  
  
“Sammy…”  
  
One word. And that would ordinarily have been enough. But there was also an insistence in those sea green eyes, an almost-plea that wasn’t taking any chances, that said ‘Please man, just make it stop’.  
  
Sam relented, pouting horribly. “It’s Sam.”  
  
He let himself be maneuvered to the dingy little corner and stood there, hands bunched into fists by his sides, head bowed so it leant against the paling papered wall. Quietly he cursed himself for giving in so easily.  
  
// Sam Winchester, you fucking asshat. You freaking patsy… goddamnit… sexually frustrated… sucker! //  
  
John and Dean stepped out of the room leaving him with his nose buried in the corner. He didn’t pay his family any more heed, just wallowed in self-pity and self-deprecation and in general all round self-centeredness for the next few minutes. His legs hurt now more than ever. Blood was trickling down his shins on the ride back to their motel in St. Cloud, but that should have dried up by now. The ache was terrible enough without the added pain of an impending headache too. Hell, it felt like his head was about to explode.  
  
The door opened and closed behind him one more time, and he sensed Dean’s quiet presence in the room. With John around he wouldn’t have been allowed to turn back but with Dean he could always take liberties. Only, this time he didn’t. He couldn’t look at Dean in the eye any more and he hated himself for it. For his stupid hormonal obsession, that had ruined his relationship with his own brother.  
  
“You okay there, Sammy?”  
  
“Peachy.”  
  
Sam still didn’t turn around, but shifted on his feet slightly to re-distribute weight between his two injured knees.  
  
“Why did you?”  
  
Sam swallowed because he was hoping it wouldn’t come up again, and let loose a hassled, shivering breath. “Is the heat on? Freezing cold in here.”  
  
Dean didn’t reply. Instead Sam heard him move towards where the heating controls were and turning a couple of knobs. Then he walked back towards Sam, until he was standing right behind him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and this time he shivered for real.  
  
“Why, Sammy?”  
  
“Why what?”  
  
Dean sighed, took a step closer. “Have you taken to, like, antagonizing Dad for no reason at all now? You know what happens when you disobey a direct order.”  
  
He snorted. “Not everyone can be a good little daddy’s soldier like you Dean.”  
  
“…”  
  
Sam shifted once more, bit his lip because Dean’s second-long silence was making him feel guiltier than John’s yelling did in all of last two hours. “Guess I just missed  _corner-time_  more than I thought, is all. You should try it some time. It's a refreshing perspective, really.”  
  
Dean snorted, but he still stood there, mere inches away, still torturously (or maybe thankfully) out of eyeshot. Sam couldn’t have cared less about John and his daddy issues in that moment.  
  
“Sammy…” Dean’s voice was a pained whisper, and this time Sam did turn around to look at him. There was an exhaustion in his big brother’s face as Dean kept his head ducked low and rubbed an eye lazily.  
  
“I’m sorry, Dean. I…”  
  
// I couldn’t have left you alone, I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you… //  
  
Sam turned back into the corner, figured by the flaking pattern that the wallpaper was at least ten years old, and there used to be something green underneath it. “I wasn’t  _trying_  to piss dad off, not that time, I swear.”  
  
“I know.” Dean came closer still. “I guess I  _do_  know. God knows if I hadn’t seen that thing swooping down at you in time… I…”  
  
His warm hands rested on Sam’s shoulders and the younger boy trembled. His already weakened knees threatened to buckle under the added weight and he leaned further into the wall, away from Dean. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you too…”  
  
Sam closed his eyes and exhaled, blinking back tears of relief when he felt Dean’s hands pulling him backwards from the wall until he was leaning back against Dean’s solid frame behind him. His head rested against Dean’s right shoulder and firm hands encircled his waist, caressing his belly every so softly.  
  
“Come on…”  
  
“Where?”  
  
“Bed. You’re tired. And hurt.”  
  
It all felt so surreal. Dean’s voice was soft, warm… and there was a tinge of something he’d never heard directed towards Sam before. It was his brother’s tone of seduction… the voice he used when trying to convince a waitress to go into the back with him… or flirting with a state trooper who’d caught an underage kid behind the wheel of the Impala. Speeding.  
  
Sam swallowed. “But I… sixty minutes…”  
  
“You really care about that? Come on…”  
  
Dean tugged at his wrist to lead him towards the bed, where surely, as always, he would insist Sam take off his shirt or pants or wherever he was hurt, so Dean could dress his wounds. But this time Sam wasn’t so sure he wanted to be on the bed or hell, anywhere so close to Dean right now. This was so not the right time for a full-blown erection, not that his cock ever listened to reason. Sam didn’t budge.  
  
“Dean, please…”  
  
// Don’t do this. Let me go for your own sake… //  
  
Instead, Dean sighed and turned him around so they were face to really red face. Sam ducked his head so he didn’t have to look at his brother, concentrating on his damn hard-on to make it go down.  _Now_. So focused was he, Sam didn’t notice when Dean smirked, reached with one arm behind Sam’s back and the other behind his knees, and hoisted the younger boy up in his arms.  
  
“Hey!!”  
  
Sam couldn’t help but cling to Dean’s neck for dear life. “What the fuck?”  
  
Dean just chuckled, and turned to walk back towards one of the queen-sized beds in the room. Casually, he dumped his brother onto the bed and Sam bounced up once before shimmying up toward the headboard and out of Dean’s reach.  
  
“You’re such a jerk, Dean!”  
  
Dean laughed again and reached for the first-aid box. “Take off your pants.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because! Just leave me alone!”  
  
“Sammy c’mon! I’m not Dad, why do you have to fight me on every little thing I ask of you?”  
  
“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”  
  
The words were out of his mouth before Sam could clamp a hand down on his mouth. He bit his lip and prayed he could take it back. Damnit there had to be a way! But it was done. Dean’s face had turned to stone as they stared each other down. An eternity passed, or maybe just a couple of seconds, but when the deadlock broke, Sam was the one to do it. He didn’t want to start bawling like a baby before Dean, he’d been humiliated enough today as it is.  
  
“It’s… hard,” he said, before softly rolling his eyes at the completely unintended pun. “To be around you, to have you touching me like… like we were just brothers. I can’t do it Dean, please don’t ask me to pretend, I don’t think I can…”  
  
Sam sighed in resignation and closed his eyes, preparing to sleep alone that night once again. He waited to hear the sounds of Dean walking out and slamming the door behind him. But none of those sounds came. Instead he felt the bed cover rustle and a weight settle beside him, causing a dip in the mattress. He gingerly opened his eyes, to find Dean sitting right before him, gazing into his face with gentle eyes. Like lovers do.  
  
“You don’t ever have to pretend with me again.”  
  
In the next instant, Dean had slid close enough to him so there were barely a couple of inches separating their faces. And that distance was also gradually closed when Dean pressed his lips against Sam’s.  
  
Sam was too stunned to respond. He held himself rigid, staring at the shape of Dean’s face so close to his with wide, scared eyes. Dean pulled back gently and looked into his eyes again. There was a confusion reflected in his big brother’s eyes, sure. But besides that, he also saw a certain smokiness, a burning desire that absolutely needed to be quelled and the way Dean was licking his lips and looking at Sam’s open mouth…  
  
// Oh God. Maybe I’m still standing in the corner and fell asleep on my feet like a fucking horse? Yeah, that must be it. //  
  
“Is this real?”  
  
Dean smiled, reaching up to take Sam’s face in his hands. “It’s as real as you want it to be, Sammy…”  
  
And he kissed Sam again. Lips brushed against lips at first, softly pressing close-mouthed kisses at first to give Sam the time he needed to believe. Or move away if he so desired. But Sam, once he’d pinched himself several times and convinced himself that he absolutely was  _not_  dreaming, couldn’t have moved away for the end of the world. Instead he gasped, and Dean assumed that was his invitation to move in.  
  
He slid his hands down from Sam’s face, caressing a line down his neck and shoulders and arms, as he continued to softly tease Sam with the tip of his tongue. Sam couldn’t be more awkward, or more acutely conscious that he was kissing his brother. Sam was kissing Dean!  
  
When Sam started to get breathless, Dean pulled away to look into his little brother’s darkening eyes. “Is this okay?”  
  
Sam could only nod, struggling to pull in more oxygen into his lungs. He couldn’t believe, he still couldn’t believe…  
  
“Dean… are you sure about this?”  
  
Dean smiled. “Yeah, Sammy. I’m here now. Took me awhile to figure it out. But I’m here.”  
  
And he moved in to kiss Sam again. This time, Sam opened up willingly and Dean slipped his tongue in completely, allowing Sam’s soft lips to close over his and letting him explore to his heart’s content. Sam did the same for Dean, holding himself pliant and open as Dean licked at the walls of his mouth and massaged the surface of Sam’s tongue with his own. Sam let his eyes droop, and sagged into the hold that Dean’s hands had on him already. It was a dream come true, hell even better. Dean was kissing him! Dean was holding him in his arms, laying him down on the bed, cradling the back of his head in one firm hand. Dean was on top of him, around him, enveloping him in everything that was warm and solid and comforting… everything scented in musk and gunpowder and  _Dean_ , and Sam couldn’t have possibly asked for anything more.  
  
All his physical aches and pains were forgotten. Everything that Sam sensed and felt in the moments that followed was what Dean wanted him to sense and feel. There was no holding back this time, no hesitation and no inhibitions on either side. Sam spread his legs almost on reflex, to make space for Dean to settle between them. Dean made himself comfortable, his thigh brushing against Sam’s painfully hard erection incessantly until he was struggling for control because he didn’t want to freak Dean out by humping against him. And yet, the way Dean’s hands glided over his body and the way his tongue knew its way expertly inside his mouth… it almost felt like Dean had done this before? But Sam couldn’t dwell on the thought for long. His cock twitched seeking attention and every nerve-ending in his body tingled and soon he was weeping pre-come. Dean ran his hands down Sam’s torso, stroking him from over his clothes… stoking a little fire in his wake everywhere he touched. His fingers at the back of Sam’s head made little twirls in Sam’s silken hair, tugging teasingly now and then.

So many sensations from just one kiss… Sam felt like he was free falling, and he didn’t wish to be saved.  
  
The orgasm hit him hard and fast and completely blew him away. Sam had to break off the kiss to gasp in some much needed air, his head thrown back into Dean’s hand still underneath him, and his eyes were unfocused and dilated. Dean kissed his face, the column of his slender throat, his strong jawline, the sides of his eyes and the little depressions in his cheeks when he smiled to express his happiness. His damn lungs were still not very cooperative and his heart was racing so hard Sam thought it would just burst.  
  
“Shhh… you’re okay. You’re okay.”  
  
Sam had to laugh. “Hell, I’m more than okay. Dean, I’m great!”  
  
He looked into Dean’s face then, smiling back at him, eyes twinkling with mischief and a ‘Dude! you came in your pants’ unspoken on his lips. Sam laughed too, shook his head because he still couldn’t believe this was really happening.  
  
“Believe it, Sammy.”  
  
Sam started, and Dean pulled all of him up into his arms.  
  
“And for the record,  _you_  started it.”  
  
Sam chuckled, and sighed. Vaguely he realized he was about to slip into a dreamless sleep and he tried to fight it with everything he had inside.  
  
“God, Dean I…”  
  
“It’s okay, go to sleep. I got you. Shh… I got you.”  
  
Sam relaxed, aptly persuaded by his brother’s gentle voice and touch. He felt Dean’s hands moving downward to undo his jeans and expertly pull them off of him. Smiled goofily like he was high, his brother would always be a freakin’ mother hen, no matter how much he hated being called one.  
  
His last thoughts, before Sam completely slipped away, were of the letter he had been composing to Natalie earlier that morning. He swallowed, trying to suppress his guilty conscience that now housed itself deep in the pit of his stomach. Sam had left that window open on purpose, knowing Dean would see it. He’d also opened a couple of college websites at their admission process pages knowing Dean would see those too, and draw the right conclusions. He hadn’t actually expected it to work as perfectly as it did; hell he hadn’t expected it to work at all.  
  
But it did. And how.  
  
Tomorrow, he would write to Natalie for sure. Delete the old draft and write up a new one to tell her as politely as possible: ‘thanks but no thanks’. Sam sighed one last time, treasuring the way Dean kept softly stroking the sides of his thighs as he bandaged his knees.  
  
Tomorrow… was going to be the most beautiful day of his life. Tomorrow, it wouldn’t hurt so much, to know that he’d just manipulated his own brother. Tomorrow, he would look into Dean’s face, and  _not_  see the lines of worry creasing his forehead, nor the glimmer of guilt-ridden hesitation in his clear green eyes.  
  
_Tomorrow_.  
  
  
***  
  
_Hey Nat,_  
  
_What’s up?_  
  
_I see you finally got yourself an email address, that’s cool. You have no idea how great it is to hear from you. And yeah, Netscape rules LOL._

 _Fargo is so cool! It’s cold right now but not too bad. I'm actually looking forward to snow this year. Heard there are some great slopes for skiing around. I'm starting at the new school soon. Dean’s offered to teach me how to drive and I’m thinking I might just like it here, for however long it lasts LOL._  
  
_I’m sure you’re having a really great time in college yourself. Very soon you’ll make new friends, and life won’t seem so lonely any more. I promise. Any guy would kill to be your sex slave, babe, you know that ;-)_  
  
_Nat, you’re a very special person. You’ve given me so much and I don’t think I thanked you for it. If ever you need my help, please don’t hesitate to write or call._  
  
_Take care, and keep me posted!_  
  
_~ S.W_  
  
***

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Still Sam's POV, so it's full of his own doubts and insecurities and guilt, which together may paint a grim self-portrait of Sam and put Dean on a pedestal, but that's just how Sam is thinking right now. Please note it is not because I am biased for or against any one character. Cheers.

**Fargo, North Dakota.  
November 1998**

_***************************** _

  
Sam used to be a really light sleeper when he was a baby.

John proudly attributed it to the fact that his kid had naturally sharp senses and would stir at the slightest of disturbances. Gave Mary hell of course, poor woman never slept more than two hours at a stretch for months. Unfortunately for John, over the years Sam lost that acute sharpness. These days, it was practically an ordeal to wake the kid up each morning for training. John’s well-conceived regime based on all his years as a Marine just wasn’t working for his younger son, and he was perplexed.  
  
John rapped on their door at o-four hundred sharp the next morning. Dean woke up and rushed to let him in, cutting Dad off before he could start nagging in his big booming voice.  
  
“Give him a break today, Dad, please?”  
  
Bed covers were rustled and pushed up to expose Sam’s bandaged knees and after a whole minute of silent pleading on Dean’s part and not so silent huffing and glaring back from John, the father grunted his acquiescence and left.  
  
“Later then. But he’s not getting out of this, you tell him that.”  
  
Sam wanted to smile, hell, sit up and high-five his awesome big brother but he didn’t ‘cause that would give his farce away. Once the door closed though, he opened his sleep-filled eyes and flashed his wide toothy grin. “Thanks Dean.”  
  
Dean narrowed his eyes at him and fell back into his bed. “You got two more hours. Then we head back.”  
  
Sam watched his brother sprawled out on his stomach, one hand automatically twisting behind his back and the other resting next to his slightly open mouth.  
  
“Dean?” he whispered after a few minutes, not expecting him to be awake, but he tried anyway.  
  
“Hmm…”  
  
“Can I…?”

// Can I sleep with you? Yikes that sounds corny, even if it’s precise. Can you… hold me? Ick no. Man, can I… can I… //

"Uh, never mind." 

Dean shifted and made space on his bed, then help the covers up and waited for Sam to eagerly climb in, before enveloping him in his body’s eternal warmth. Sam snuggled into his big brother happily, not caring that Dean barely even opened his eyes to acknowledge him.  
  
“Go to sleep, Sammy,” was all he mumbled, resting his chin on top of Sam's head heavily.

A part of Sam was convinced he was only dreaming... a vivid, fantastical dream that felt so real, like glimpses of a life he might have lived in another time, or could possibly even have in future... or maybe a life that another Sam Winchester was living right now, in like an alternate dimension. Regardless, Sam cherished these sounds and visions, the heartwarming sensation, imagined or otherwise, of his brother's arms wrapped tightly around him. 

If this were a dream, Sam never wanted to wake up. 

 

***

 

The drive back to Fargo was uneventful, what with Sam slinking down in his seat and promptly falling back to sleep as Dean drove the Impala, following John in his truck. Once they parked beside their motel rooms, Dean shook Sam awake, his voice way too cheerful for seven in the AM.  
  
“Morning, sunshine!”  
  
Sam flipped him off, got out of the car grumbling and gathered his stuff. Dean unlocked their door right on cue for Sam to stride in without having to wait, and collapse onto his bed face down. Dean busied himself with throwing open windows and pulling away curtains to let the stuffy room breathe.  
  
“Enough, Sammy. Time to rejoin the world of the living.”  
  
Sam groaned again. “Give me one good reason.”  
  
“Blueberry pancakes?”  
  
Sam smirked, his face hidden under the pillow. Why Dean expected Sammy to follow in his gluttonous footsteps was completely beyond his comprehension.  
  
“No thanks. And I’d watch my waistline if I was you.”  
  
A solid towel whap landed on his butt.  
  
“Oww! Jerk!”  
  
“Bitch. Shoulda known you were gonna go the fairy way.”  
  
Sam sat up seething and ready to glare his big brother to death, except suddenly he remembered…

He _remembered._  It hadn't been a dream, not this time. His brother was not just his brother any more. Everything that had happened the night before zoomed back into clear, sharp focus. 

Dean had kissed him. And Sam had kissed Dean back. Fucking fuck, he had come in his pants just from the kissing! And then this morning he’d crawled into his brother’s bed, and…

Dean had _let_  him.  
  
Sam’s mouth opened and closed and opened again like a goldfish, partly because of his utter inability to think of an appropriate comeback but mostly because he was hyperventilating. Dean may have had something to say about it except he didn’t notice, too busy heading into the bathroom with the stupid said towel.  
  
The twenty-year old started to tug his clothes off before he even reached the door. Going in he kicked the door shut behind him but it didn’t lock. Instead it swung back from the reactive force and stayed ajar. Sam had very nearly mastered the art of regulated breathing, when he heard the shower running and looked up through the gap in the door.  
  
At which point he promptly forgot to breathe again.  
  
Dean was in the shower. The flimsy ragged curtain around the tub had seen better days but unfortunately it still did the job of hiding the more...  _sordid_  details. Sam could see the outline of his brother’s handsome, sculpted body silhouetted by the translucent plastic. And that was enough to make his heart race.  
  
// Why did Dean leave the door unlocked? //  
  
Was it supposed to mean something? Maybe he just forgot, yeah. He’d forgotten before, or mostly just not cared. This wasn’t any different. Sam stood up and paced. The decent thing to do would be to go up and close it properly himself. Right. Except walking to the door would bring him closer to… an  _unclothed_  Dean and Sam didn’t know if he was ready to handle that.  
  
Maybe it was Dean’s way to let Sam know that he remembered what happened last night? Their relationship had changed and maybe this was Dean’s way of acknowledging it. Maybe… maybe it was Dean’s way of telling Sam that he was invited to join him in the shower?  
  
// Oh God. Oh God. Oh Sweet God. //  
  
Sam paced again, deliberately not looking toward the bathroom. Everywhere but there.  
  
// Damn it! Don’t think so much, Winchester. Just… go in. He wants you to. Grow a pair for fuck’s sake! //  
  
Sam swallowed hard and surreptitiously looked up through the door again. Hell it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Dean naked before. Life on the road didn’t exactly leave much room for privacy. There were times the brothers had to change in the backseat of the car, on the road, because Dad was in too much of a hurry to stop somewhere. And then there was this one time in Montana last year when Sam had stormed into the bathroom in a hurry. Only to find Dean sitting on the toilet with his jeans and boxers around his knees, jerking off.  
  
“Ewww gross, Dean! Lock the damn door, will ya!”  
  
Sam had been so embarrassed and squicked out but Dean hadn’t given a shit. He’d just laughed and continued to thumb through his latest copy of Busty Asian Beauties while pulling at his generously endowed...  _thang,_  like his little brother wasn’t in the room watching him. Once Sam managed to wrench his eyes away, he had double-timed it out of there, hot, bothered and confused as to why he was suddenly sporting a massive boner himself.  
  
So he’d always known his brother was a hyperactively sexual person. And apparently his expansive and highly libertarian dictionary did not include the word ‘inhibition’. Maybe it did once, but by the time Dean hit sixteen, he’d totally forgotten it. 

Dean knew he was an attractive guy, but he’d been through a major sinusoidal phase about it. Hell there was a time he’d actually gone to insane lengths to  _hide_  it.  
  
In their line of work, they couldn’t afford to stand out in a crowd. Dean had quickly realized at the tender age of thirteen the effect he had on people. Heads turned and conversations dropped to hushed tones and worse… people  _remembered_. This, when the Winchesters needed to be in and out of places like they were invisible. Dean tried growing his hair out, which only made the swooning worse, so he went back to crew-cut and that didn’t help either. All his clothes were Salvation Army rejects even when they could afford new ones. But it only turned into fashion statements that his juniors at school would emulate.  
  
Eventually he quit fighting it, realizing the fringe benefits that came with being a looker far outweighed the costs. Girls, their moms and their grandmoms all threw themselves at him. People divulged sensitive information freely, willing to have him sit close and chat up for hours on end. And if he was caught doing something he shouldn't be, a bashful, apologetic smile was enough for hearts to melt and let him run scot-free.  
  
Of course there were times that his brother's old James Dean-junior routine did  _not_  work. Believe it or not - there were still some folks out there who didn't fall for his bull crap. At which point, he would just casually push little brother to the front ‘cause Sam's puppy dog eyes  _always_  worked.  
  
Sam realized he’d drifted away on his thoughts for a few seconds, but was heartlessly pulled back into the now by Dean’s resonant voice.  
  
_“…And the road becomes my bride,_  
_I have stripped of all but pride._  
_So in her I do confide,_  
_And she keeps me satisfied._  
_Gives me all I need, yeah!!”_  
  
Sam considered diving back under the covers to try and block him out, knowing it wouldn’t help. What was he supposed to do now? Dean was singing! He swallowed, hard, and looked down at his bare feet, studying them like he’d never seen them before. It took a few minutes before he finally reached a decision.  
  
  
***

  
  
The door creaked, and there was no way Dean could have missed it. Sam winced, waiting for the yelling to begin but it never did. Instead Dean kept on singing, without missing a beat. Using a softer tempo for the otherwise aggressive number, hell without the drums and the creepy operatic violins he almost made it sound like a tragic lullaby.  
  
_“But I’ll take my time anywhere_  
_Free to speak my mind anywhere_  
_And I’ll redefine anywhere_  
_Anywhere I may roam_  
_Where I lay my head is home.”_  
  
Why did his brother have to sound like that, on top of looking like that? Sam sighed and entered the bathroom, softly locking the door behind him. The shower curtain was only half-drawn. So all Sam had to do to see Dean naked…  _jeez he was such a freakin’ pervert_ … was to walk up a few steps towards him. His palms were sweaty as he made tight fists of them in the sides of his bottle green sweatpants that had once belonged to Dean.  
  
“Here, Sammy.”  
  
Sam very nearly squawked with fright. Dean poked his head out, wet hair stuck down his forehead, and nodded at Sam. Not nodded exactly, more like… quickly jerking his head towards his right as if he was… signaling Sam to…  
  
// Oh. Fuck. //  
  
Sam could feel his groin tighten painfully. Dean was calling Sam over.  
  
Baby steps, in slow motion, until finally he was there, besides the bathtub, barely a feet away. He didn’t trust his knees to hold out so he quickly pushed the lid down on the toilet seat and sat down on it, in clear view of his brother just as Sam could see him. Clearly. And completely.  
  
The last of an ivory soap’s lather was streaking down the smooth, atrociously tanned expanse of Dean’s chest. Down to his perfectly formed six pack, pausing inside the cavity of his navel… before finally reaching into that dip between his legs…  
  
“You’re gawking at me like you’ve never seen me before.”  
  
Sam bit his lip and looked up into Dean’s face. His brother had that look like he wanted to smirk but couldn't because the situation demanded him to be diplomatic or whatever. Sam didn't much like that face: it meant Dean was pulling a fast one on someone, even if it also sometimes meant he might be trying to be nice for a change. He quickly looked away, his face heating up and hating it because  _damnit_  boys aren’t supposed to blush this hard.  
  
Dean chuckled softly. “It’s okay. You can look.”  
  
Sam gulped, his eyes obsessing with the tile design below his bare feet. His brother’s gaze burned into the side of his face as Dean casually turned around to let the water sluice down his flawless back. Sam breathed deeply, and cursed himself for being so fucking helpless (and predictably so) in the face of his naked, gorgeous brother. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his short t-shirt as he consciously kept pulling it down over his throbbing crotch. He wasn’t going to touch himself ‘cause he knew he’d explode just like that. Through the corner of his eye, he noticed Dean casually turning back again to face the torrent. Still humming.  
  
_“… And my ties are severed clean_  
_The less I have the more I gain_  
_Off the beaten path I reign”_  
  
// Damn it Dean! Would it kill you to look just a little unfazed? //  
  
Sam had seen guys naked in school gyms before. But he wasn’t really  _looking_  back then. He’d never felt any feelings or even the slightest bit of sexual arousal for anyone. Anyone that is, except his brother. And Dean could be pretty vain, but apparently with damn good reason. From the top of his head to the tips of his toes and every single blemish in between... to Sam's eyes his big brother was simply perfect. That also included... what Dean had between his legs – thick and _big_ and just the sight of it made Sam press his legs together unconsciously and squirm. The… uh… thing… hung proud and full and visibly stiff, a dark purple shade that would look vulgar in a porn film but here, in person and on Dean, it just looked… the word 'magnificent' came to mind. That and, God help him…  _Mouthful_.  
  
His balls lay nestled in a thick bush of dark blonde curls while the sparse hair on the long, slightly bowing outward legs was a lighter shade of straw. Same as on his arms leading Sam's wandering gaze back up to those powerful, well-toned biceps. 

Dean stood with his head lowered, letting the hot water knead his neck and wash down his back, one hand resting on the wall in front. Sam followed the languid movements of a washcloth in Dean’s other hand as he reached with it between his shoulder blades. He watched as a couple of rivulets slithered down the muscled chest only to stop at the tips of two pointed, dusky nubs… hovering, reluctant to leave.  
  
// Great. Now I’m empathizing with fucking drops of water. //  
  
_“Rover wanderer, nomad vagabond_  
_Call me what you will…”_  
  
He felt an intense urge to lick the deep grooves in his brother’s hip joints, not one extra ounce of fat… where did the fucking pancakes go? Every freckle, every scar, every minuscule detail branded itself in Sam’s mind just as he fought a constant and losing battle with himself to turn away. But he couldn’t because all he wanted in that moment was to keep staring. And staring. And staring.  
  
// God. Dean. You’re so beautiful. //  
  
Dean stopped singing mid-word, which made Sam gaze up into his face again. Dean was licking his lips, trying to bite back a grin but apparently not trying very hard any more.  
  
“You do realize you said that out loud don’t you?”  
  
Sam froze, his mouth flew open before he clamped down fast and blushed an even brighter shade of scarlet.  
  
// You just called Dean “beautiful” ?!? To his freakin’ face ?!?!? //  
  
Sam stood up in a rush, ready to bolt. “I’m…”  
  
What? Sorry? Maybe, regretting the little Freudian slip, sure. But he wasn't wrong. His brother _was_  incredibly beautiful. Why would someone as perfect as Dean ever want to be with someone like Sam?

He had to rush out of there before he made a bigger fool of himself, except his knees locked up and he hadn’t even take a single step when Dean called after him.  
  
“Sam, wait.”  
  
Sam flinched but stopped nevertheless, his feet having lost all respect for their owner and much inclined to listen to Dean instead.

"I know what you're thinking and that's bullshit, okay? You're... you're the beautiful one, not me."

Sam looked up into Dean's face, expecting to see him snorting in amusement but instead his face was blank, devoid of all emotions -  good or bad, like he was trying really hard to keep it that way.

Sam licked his lips wet and tried to lighten the mood. "Wait, let me guess, because I'm the girl in this relationship, right?"  
  
The trick worked, Dean grinned. “So you, uh, do you wanna join me?”  
  
Sam bit his lip, hard. He did not just hear that.  
  
“Sammy?”  
  
// Of course I wanna join you! What kind of a question is that? Doesn’t mean I  _will_. //  
  
“It’s o-okay… whatever you want.”  
  
“No! I mean…”  
  
Dean pulled the curtain further apart, and this time the signal was definitely loud and clear.  
  
The young boy understood then. Sam’s staring a naked Dean down was, in some subconscious twisted sort of way, his way of checking if Dean really was okay with this. Letting him stare away in exchange was Dean’s way of letting Sam know that he indeed was okay with this. But now it was Sam’s turn… to prove to Dean that his little brother, the freakin’ minor, was  _also_  completely okay with this (even if he initiated it). He wanted to chuckle at Dean’s over-protectiveness that refused to go away even at a time like this. But he was still strung up way too tight, unable to un-freeze any of his facial muscles out of the ‘big scaredy cat’ face they were currently making. Why did his brain always have to fight his body so hard?  
  
“Sammy… if you don’t want to, it’s okay.”  
  
Sam swallowed. “I’m just… I don’t… Dean you’re… you’re so… I don’t want you to be…”  
  
Dean shook his head and this time he outright chuckled. Sam didn’t have time to react before he held out a hand to Sam and the little brother in him reflexively took it. He was tugged closer and then prodded to pick up his feet until he was standing besides Dean, a naked Dean… inside the bathtub.  
  
“You’re right. You got nothin’ on me kid, nothin’. And you never will so why bother? Won’t change anything will it?”  
  
One word - _Aargh_. How his brother could be so freakin’ exasperating even now, Sam would never understand. Before he could answer though, Dean’s hands calmly landed on the helm of his t-shirt and started drawing it up.  
  
There was no turning back now. He locked eyes with his brother and clenched his shaking hands into fists, letting Dean know he could do whatever he wished. The t-shirt was slowly pulled over his head and dropped to the floor. Then Dean’s fingers were at his waistband. Sam knew what lay at the other end of this scintillating, frightening moment… he was about to come undone along with those drawstrings. He closed his eyes and surrendered. Dean casually slid the sweatpants off of Sam’s thin waist, letting them drop to the base of the tub around his ankles. His hands landed back at Sam’s waist, this time softly fiddling with the elastic of his boxers.  
  
Sam moaned low and deep in his throat, his head fell forward and he had to reach out and grip Dean’s arms for support to stop his swaying. Dean didn’t stretch it out too long. His hands encircled the boy’s hips and slowly pushed the fabric down until it joined Sam’s pants at his ankles. This time Sam did whimper.  
  
“Tell me if I should stop.”  
  
Sam breathed hard, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Keep going.”  
  
Dean softly tapped at the side of his right thigh at which Sam opened his eyes and oriented himself. He picked up his feet one after another and kicked the clothes to the other end of the tub. When he finally gathered the courage to look up into Dean’s eyes, he saw the strangest thing.  
  
Dean’s eyes were focused on Sam’s flushed face, full of… Sam couldn’t find a suitable word to describe what he saw. All he knew was, he’d never seen  _that_  in Dean’s face before.  
  
It was a look of… not unbridled lust or that smokin’ come-hither thing he did with the girls. Nor was it concern or protectiveness or any of those brotherly things, thank God. It wasn’t fear, and it wasn’t that sheer look of grit and determination he’d get to fight his fears either. No… this was…  
  
// Fuck, Winchester… you did that to your brother. //  
  
Sam found a word. _Powerless_.  
  
Powerless to look away. Powerless to stop his eyes caressing every visible inch of his not-so-little brother. Suddenly, Sam didn’t feel so insecure any more.  
  
Dean’s eyes finally came to a halt at his mouth, cautiously raising his hand so he could rub Sam’s wet lips with a thumb. Sam shivered, and Dean twisted his other hand behind him to turn up the hot water. Then he was stepping backward and tugging Sam along until they were both standing under the warm torrent, Sam more than Dean. The younger boy gasped at first, his already hyper-sensitized body jolting at the fresh onslaught of hot and cold sensations. He twisted sideways to avoid the direct hit his peaking nipples were taking, which only led him to walk in closer to Dean. Sam sighed, even mewled a little because the water felt great. So did Dean’s hands on his shoulders, timidly running down his arms.  
  
“This, okay?”  
  
Sam swallowed, and nodded. Hoping Dean would see it for what it really was… his permission, hell his outright plea to Dean to let his hands go further. Sam leaned forward, unconsciously trying to get his lower body come in contact with his brother’s and it almost did. Nearly did.  
  
“Turn around.”  
  
Sam started, but did as he was told. Dean positioned him still under the shower so his back was getting the full water treatment and Sam clenched his butt cheeks without any real intent. He imagined Dean’s eyes inspecting him down there, drinking in the sight of all that pale unmarked skin that longed, no…  _ached_  for Dean’s touch.  
  
// Please… Dean… please… touch me already. //  
  
But this was too new, too raw… still too precarious and Sam wasn’t willing to risk Dean losing his nerve by making any demands. So weird. He’d never thought he’d ever have to treat Dean like a skittish horse.  
  
“You can touch me, if you want.”  
  
Sam wasn’t even sure that was his own voice. So loaded with… need and desperation, he wondered if he could ever make Dean sound like that. The running water and Sam’s hard breathing were the only sounds breaking the pin drop silence in the room. Dean slowly raised his hands until they came to rest on Sam’s narrow hips. Happily the fingers stroked, batting droplets of water back and forth, until Sam stepped back and closer to Dean... letting the crack of his ass rest squarely against his brother’s erection.  
  
Sonofabitch. Dean was so freakin’ hard. For  _him_. For Sam.  
  
Sam couldn’t help the tiny victorious smile on his face and he tilted his head back until it fell on Dean’s shoulder. Wiggled his backside just a little and sure enough, Dean gasped behind him, his erection springing up and taking more avid interest in the warm body pressed against it.  
  
“God Sammy, don’t do that.”  
  
Sam softly smirked. “Why not?”  
  
“Because…”  
  
Sam continued to breathe hard, resting completely against his brother’s frame he sought his brother’s right hand with his. All that was needed to complete this picture perfect moment was to have Dean’s warm hand around his throbbing…  
  
“Ah!”

Dean chuckled at the little yelp of surprise he elicited from Sam just from a fleeting brush of his fingers against Sam's right nipple. "Shhh," he hissed into Sam's ear, making him shiver despite himself. 

"You're teasing me," Sam whined, clenching his eyes shut as Dean tweaked his nipple gently, mercilessly. 

"What do you want me to do?"

Sam sighed deeply, his entire body heaving against his brother's larger frame. "Whatever you'd do if... if I were anybody else. Don't hold back on me, Dean, please...?" 

Dean’s fingers stilled for a few excruciating seconds. Sam's greatest fear was that they'd remain forever frozen and not do anything, or worse, withdraw completely. He started to groan in frustration, silently willing Dean to please just make up his mind.

Which he then did.  
  
Dean’s left hand came around to encircle Sam’s stomach, resting somewhere in the space beneath his navel. His right hand slowly, teasingly, slithered down from Sam's chest to his groin, where it hesitated for barely a moment before wrapping itself completely around his shaft, soundly and deliberately. And Sam’s knees buckled. He leaned more heavily against Dean, closed his eyes and let him do all the work. Dean started with slower, tentative strokes as if mapping the lay of the land so to speak. Fondling the loose foreskin, rubbing down from the base to the very sensitive tip that made Sam whimper every time he got there. The gentle grip got firmer, confident, and soon Sam was groaning, not in frustration but a spectacular sensory overload.  
  
Dean buried his face in the crook of Sam’s neck and bit down at his pulse point, squeezing and releasing the fragile skin there between his teeth in tandem with his rhythmic pumping of Sam’s erection. Meanwhile Sam furiously frotted against Dean’s hard-on that lay nestled within his buttocks. His hands gripped at Dean’s hips hard when the older boy shifted and tried to back away. Sam bent a leg back to hook an ankle around Dean’s calf, anchoring himself firmly, spreading his legs in the process to give Dean's expert hand better access.  
  
He was loud and uninhibited and to hell with playing it safe. It became clear to Sam that he was in a position to call the shots and there was no way he’d let Dean get away now. Took awhile before the boy behind him quit trying to back away, and the mouth on his neck was making some very interesting sounds of its own. Water acted as their conduit for pleasure and Sam wouldn’t have been surprised if the liquid rose off their scorching bodies as steam. When he came, Sam spasmed almost painfully into Dean’s welcoming fist and his whole body arched up like a taut bowstring. His eyes flew open as he struggled to breathe, and Sam was glad for Dean’s strong arms holding him up because if not for them he’d fall face first into the tub and it wouldn’t be pretty.  
  
“Shhh… you’re okay. You’re okay.”  
  
Sam smiled despite his wheezing, and remembered the hard thing poking him in the behind that also needed to be taken care of. So he wiggled again.  
  
“Hey…” Dean stilled his hips. “Told you not to do that.”  
  
Sam opened one eye and craned upward to look up into Dean’s face, the smug little smile back in place. “Give me one good reason…”  
  
Dean gulped and Sam caught that.  
  
// He is waiting for you man, you need to take the lead. //  
  
Sam turned around, this time pressing his front to Dean’s and leaning in to initiate a kiss. He brushed his lips against Dean once, twice, another time requesting entrance until Dean opened up and took Sam’s tongue in. Sam smiled again, his eyes twinkling with such satisfaction Dean couldn’t help but smile back. He wrapped his arms around the younger boy and deepened the kiss until they were both completely breathless.  
  
Sam rested his head on Dean’s shoulder, as they softly rocked from side to side under the water. Then he tried again. “You can do anything you want, Dean. Anything.”  
  
He felt Dean’s chest rise and fall once, dramatically. “That’s  _so_   _not_ what you tell a guy during your first time, Sammy.”  
  
Sam chuckled, looked up into Dean’s face without really lifting his head, and saw that his big brother was, for a change, exasperated himself.  
  
_Powerless._

// I did this. I, Sam Winchester, fucking did this to him. //  
  
“You’re not any guy. And I mean it Dean… I’d do anything to make you happy.”  
  
He still couldn’t believe how raspy his voice was. Dean stared hard into his eyes and he stared right back. Sure he was just a little scared, this being his first time and all. But he was not backing down now, not this time. Not with Dean.  
  
“Anything?”  
  
Dean’s one eyebrow was up, and Sam nodded in promise. “Anything.”  
  
Was it a few minutes or a few seconds, hell it could’ve been a few hours and Sam wouldn’t have known the difference. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Dean spoke.  
  
“Let me wash your hair.”  
  
“What?”

Dean smirked softly. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”  
  
Sam felt lost, not to mention tons disappointed. Dean turned off the water and reached past Sam’s head for his bottle of shampoo, the sight of which had him chuckling not so quietly. Sam pouted, slipping back into defensive little brother mode without realizing it.  
  
“Shut up, it’s  _not_  a girlie shampoo.” Before Dean could say it, only a thousandth time since Sam bought it.  
  
“Whatever you say, Cosmo girl.”  
  
Shoving at each other got old eventually and Dean got down to what he wanted to do. Sam had to admit… Dean’s hands massaging his scalp felt like heaven. He could’ve easily drifted off to sleep standing right there, except Dean turned the shower back on and Sam let the water rinse away the foam, leaving behind a softer, cleaner feel to his hair and Dean’s fingers lazily carding through them.  
  
// He didn’t come, you selfish ass. //  
  
Sam bit his lip and let his right hand’s fingers softly brush against his brother's still hard member, but Dean gripped his wrist and stopped him. Sam looked up into his eyes, slightly taken aback.  
  
“Finish up, Sammy.”  
  
And the spell broke. Dean stepped out, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. Then without looking back, he started walking out of the bathroom. That’s when Sam panicked.  
  
“Dean?”  
  
Sam just couldn’t help it. The older brother paused at the door and turned around. There was that helpless look again, in his eyes, in every deeply etched line on his suddenly too-old face. But it wasn’t empowering or amusing or  _fucking anything_  anymore.  
  
“I… I…”  
  
Dean abruptly broke out a grin, the best one he could find just for this very occasion. “Hey, it’s okay. Don’t make me wait too much, alright?”  
  
And then he winked, easing Sam’s heart just a bit but not by much. Soon as the door slid softly shut, Sam sank to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees. The water continued to run down his quivering frame.   
  
Everything had been going so well…  
  
  
***

The balance of power had seemingly shifted back to where it’d started. Sam sighed as he turned off the water, now an icy cold, and dried himself.  
  
// He was turned on. Like seriously. I saw it, I  _felt_  it. //  
  
Then what could be the reason for turning him away? With one large swipe, Sam cleared a film of condensed steam from the mirror and looked at himself.  
  
Gangly, skinny, next to zero body hair… his little ribs showed if he flexed his arms and it weren't pretty. He turned sideways to look at his profile… goofy slanted eyes with no discernible color whatsoever, a hundred thousand moles, and earlobes that were too big for his face. Yeah, he was pretty sure it was some sort of deformity, clearly not genetic since Dean had perfectly sized earlobes, so did Dad.  
  
“Sammy! Wrap it up kiddo, I got us breakfast.”  
  
The boy hadn’t realized it’d been so long that Dean had stepped out and right back in already. “Yeah. Coming.”  
  
His voice shook and he breathed deeply twice, thrice, to steady his nerves. Dean didn’t sound upset or pissed off or anything, fact he sounded like he sounded everyday. Then what the hell was wrong with  _him_?  
  
// Get a grip, Winchester. //  
  
He breathed deeply, opened the door and made a beeline towards a small cupboard in the corner where his duffel was. Quickly he dressed himself in fresh boxers, his favorite pair of jeans, a full-sleeved steel grey undershirt and a short red t-shirt over it. He fished out his hairbrush and tried to straighten his hair out in the mirror, not seeing anything except the reflection of Dean. Glaring was more like it.  
  
// He turns me inside out and eats a bagel. //  
  
Fine. If Dean could act like nothing happened, then Sam could do it too. Give him a taste of his own stupid medicine, see how he likes being ignored for a change. Sam paid more vigorous attention to his shaggy hair than usual.  
  
Dean meanwhile, dumped the brown bags labeled Boppa’s Bagels on his bed and stretched out next to it, stuffing his face and reading a thrice folded newspaper. He was almost done eating when he turned over a page and drawled, “You’re staring at me.”  
  
Nonchalance be damned. Sam decided now would be a good time to put his hairbrush down and snap.  
  
“Great. First I can’t touch you now I can’t even look at you?”  
  
// Is that how much I disgust you? //  
  
But he wasn’t going to say it, ‘cause that would just be pathetic. –er.  
  
Dean looked up at him, evidently surprised by the outburst. For a second it looked like he was going to snap right back, except, he must have seen something in Sam’s face. So Dean just sighed and did a quick roll of his eyes before sitting up, dangling his feet by the side of his bed.  
  
“Come here, Sammy.”  
  
Sam stood up crossing his arms and turned around only to stay where he was, feet glued to the carpet. Ready to put up one last fight. “Quit ordering me around. I’m not your fucking dog.”  
  
Dean looked like he was about to start laughing and that pissed him off more. “Do you want to talk like mature adults? Or would you like to throw another prissy little fit first?”  
  
Sam scoffed and narrowed his eyes. “ _You_? You wanna  _talk_?”  
  
Dean glared back wordlessly, dangerously.  
  
Sam capitulated the very next instant. “I wanna talk.”  
  
Like two mature adults, which technically wasn’t possible for another few years but now was so not the time to remind Dean how old Sam was.  
  
“Come on then. Eat something already.”  
  
Sam moved reluctantly, his lower lip jutting out despite his best efforts to tuck it back in. When he reached the bed, he still couldn’t bring himself to sit down next to Dean on the bed. It didn’t seem… right. So instead he pulled up a chair beside it, beside Dean. The older brother bit his lip but didn’t object. Turned toward the bags of food and pushed them closer into Sam’s reach.  
  
“Here. I’ve got eggs and tuna, no bacon, just the way you like it.”  
  
Sam relented, considering Dean had actually made an effort to find him the healthy stuff. He picked up one of the bagels and a bottle of OJ and kept his gaze lowered to the table, not sure how to begin.   
  
“I don’t, I don’t understand…” was all that eventually came out. He heard Dean sigh in return.  
  
“Sammy, it's not like I didn’t want you touching me, it’s just…”  
  
Sam looked up, his eyes searching, hopeful… Dean bit his lip and ran a hand through his spiked hair. Laughed a little, softly. “I know what you want and I, I just want to do it right. Not… in a dingy motel bathroom of all places.”  
  
Sam blushed, and looked away again. Suddenly feeling like the weight of the world had been lifted off his chest and he could breathe again.   
  
“A shower’s a perfectly good place…” he started but ended up just blushing again. He’d watched enough Sharon Stone movies to know but he wasn’t dumb enough to admit it.  
  
“For your first time it’s not. I don’t wanna rush it.”  
  
Sam wondered why Dean kept saying ‘your first time’ instead of ‘our first time’. There was a good chance Dean had already done this, been with a guy during his experimental years. That didn’t bother Sam as much as he thought it would. He’d known this… transition from brothers to lovers wasn’t going to be easy. And the fact that Dean was not completely in the dark about the mechanics of how things worked in the world of uhh… boy-love, actually made it a whole lot easier.

Sam went back to nibbling on his bagel, until Dean reached out and put two fingers under his chin to make him look up. “I have a few other things on my mind. Can we talk about them now?”  
  
// Oh boy. // “Yeah, okay.”  
  
Dean leaned forward a bit resting his elbows on his knees and looked into Sam’s eyes intently. Sam could tell this was not coming easy to Dean, and felt a tiny sliver of satisfaction at the thought.  
  
“I guess it’s obvious that… we’ve got to keep this a secret. Right?”  
  
Sam swallowed, a piece of pickle going down wrong but he managed to not choke on it. “Right.”  
  
“Good. So, we need to take precautions. Make sure nobody notices anything. And especially not Dad ‘cause… damn Sammy, if he ever finds out…”  
  
Dean shook his head ominously, not smiling anymore and yeah, Sam understood. If John Winchester found out his two sons were having an incestuous relationship…  
  
// He will kill you Winchester, then bring you back and you  _know_  he can, just so he can kill you again. //  
  
Sam’s eyes shimmered at the thought of giving John yet another reason to be disappointed in him. But this time it wouldn't be just him alone. This time he’d be bringing John's golden boy, his favored firstborn down with him too. Dean’s words confirmed his fears.  
  
“I can’t even begin to imagine how he will react. I’d be… we’d be in so much shit.”  
  
Sam nodded, “A big steaming pile of shit.”  
  
“A whole fucking steaming mountain of shit.”  
  
“…”  
  
“…”  
  
“So what do we do?”  
  
“We carry on like we always do. Talk normal, act normal, I’ll keep covering your lazy ass and you keep getting on my nerves.”  
  
Sam scowled again. Dean smirked and continued rambling. “We go out, do all the things we usually do. I’m taking that job at Mondavi’s garage. You’re starting school next week. And well,  _obviously_ …”  
  
Oh God. Sam realized what Dean was about to say. For Dean to act  _normal_ , he would have to continue to see other people. Women… like that bitch Allie.  
  
“No public displays, obviously. Of… you know…”  
  
Sam squinted, and nearly dropped his bottle of juice to the carpet in relief. “What? Affection?”  
  
Dean shrugged, and Sam snorted. “Seriously? No cuddling??”  
  
“I told them to name you Samantha but did they listen? Noooo...”  
  
“Yeah yeah, I get it. No touching.” Sam laughed, but quickly sobered up. Vaguely, he thought back to the bathroom earlier, Dean seemed to be making a regular habit out of rejecting his touch…  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Sam started and looked up.  
  
“Come here.”  
  
Sam bit his lip, but did as he was told. Dean moved to lean back against the headboard and pulled Sam down until he was sitting between his legs. His slender back molded perfectly against the broad chest of his big brother, like that’s how they were always meant to be. His legs were stretched out on the bed safely ensconced on both sides by Dean’s and touching from toe to flank… Dean’s warm socked feet snuggling his cold bare ones. Dean’s blue flannel-clad arms came around to hold him as well, pull him back against Dean’s chest and keep him there.  
  
“How’s this?”  
  
“Uhh… okay I guess,” Sam mumbled. It felt wonderful, obviously, surrounded completely by the person he loved so much. But he wasn’t going to admit it, obviously.  
  
Dean entwined his hands with Sam’s in front of his stomach… his right hand holding Sam’s left one and vice versa, making the boy cross himself. He softly blew into Sam's ear and that tickled so Sam ducked to escape, laughing as he twisted around and in that instant their eyes met. Sam licked his lips.  
  
// Kiss me Dean, please just kiss… //  
  
The train of thought was lost somewhere in Dean’s mouth as it closed over Sam’s. The younger boy shivered with delight as he let his tongue explore Dean’s mouth to his heart’s content. His brother tasted of cheese and bacon and a hint of espresso, and his body emanated a heady, alluring mix of ivory and leather and something metallic he could never quite put a finger on. Every sense in his body was completely overwhelmed. Sam never wanted it to end, not even to breathe because right now, he’d rather die in the arms of his brother than pull away. His toes curled up, his nipples peaked so hard they hurt, and just when he thought he couldn’t be a bigger girl, the tingling accosted his balls…  
  
Then the phone rang.  
  
Dean froze and opened his eyes, bewildered… like he’d been snatched out of one world and hurled back into another, the real one. The look in his eyes said a thousand words as he pulled away to reach for his phone. Sam sighed, wondering if he should get up and away. But Dean’s legs were still holding him entrapped on the bed so he just waited to be set free. He turned to face forward and left Dean to attend to his caller.  
  
“Hey Dad… Tonight? Sure that can be arranged. Right… Right. Gotcha… Yes sir... Bye.”  
  
Sam didn’t realize he was still panting and quite hard at that. He felt Dean stretch to keep his phone back, and then his arms were back around Sam, holding him just as before so Sam could let his weary head flop back on Dean’s shoulder.  
  
“He’s got a new job. Possible vengeful spirit. We have to meet him at the library in two hours.”  
  
Sam nodded. This… sneaking around, hiding from their father and pretty much everyone else, jumping out of their skins every time a phone rang… Sam wondered how long before it wore one or both of them down.  
  
// What have I gotten us into? //  
  
“Shhh… you’re okay. You’re okay.”  
  
Dean pressed his lips to the side of Sam's face, slipping a hand under his shirts to rub his belly and Sam just had to smile again. It wasn’t really a question… 'You’re okay. You’re okay' … and it was obviously not a statement either. While Dean bullied him around like all big brothers do a lot of the times, he’d never been presumptuous enough to try and tell Sam how  _Sam_  was feeling. No. This was more like his typical murmuring, the way Dean did when he was talking to himself. It was almost as if…  
  
… as if Dean was assuring  _himself_   that Sam was indeed, okay. Chanting it, over and over again, clinging to it like a mantra because he  _needed_   Sam to be okay.  
  
Sam blinked back a sudden surge of hotness behind his eyes and swallowed it down. In his mind he'd gotten past the whole moral debate about incest a long time ago. And the whole age of consent rule was a freakin’ joke, far as he was concerned. Boys couldn’t wait to lose their virginities. Let them apply their ethical crap to the girls for all he cared.  
  
But what about Dean? What was this doing to the faultlessly loyal and ridiculously obedient eldest son of John Winchester? Had he been able to reconcile his mind with his heart the way Sam had? It wasn’t about how you argued the case one way or another, no logic or reasoning mattered if you just  _wanted_  it bad enough. And Sam had wanted this… he’d wanted it so fucking bad. Question was, did Dean?  
  
// I think you know the answer to that, Winchester. //  
  
Sam closed his eyes again, tensing up and shaking without meaning to, causing Dean to hold him tighter and do that shushing thing again. “You’re okay. Shhh…”  
  
Sam winced, physically pained.  
  
// Yes I am okay, Dean. But are you? //

  
***

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed the chapters have gotten longer. That's because I'm just as keen to get this finished soon enough. Thank you to everyone still reading this!

It’d been two hours since they entered the library, and they were slowly getting… nowhere. Excruciatingly slowly.

Sam yawned and looked across the table at Dean. His awesome big brother was happily snoozing away behind the International Handbook of the History of Nordic Languages Volume Two. Sam bit back a grin and, making sure John was busy over at the racks, he slipped his right foot out of its shoe.

Dean yelped and jumped like four inches off his chair. Sam ducked behind his own book of God-knows-what while everyone around including John sent reprimanding scowls Dean’s way.

“Sorry,” he hastily mouthed at Dad before narrowing his eyes at Sam, who was happily still toeing the inside of Dean’s thigh like it was his God-given birthright.

“Dude, stop it!” Dean hissed.

Sam bit his lip but couldn’t stop quietly chuckling. Nor did he stop with the teasing, very much enjoying the effect it was having on Dean. His big brother flushed red and squirmed as the foot crept in closer to his crotch, until it was probably only half an inch away from…

“Did you find something?”

This time they both jumped. How the hell did Dad sneak up on them so fast?

“Not yet,” Sam pored back into his book, “I’m looking at the Eastern bloc.”

“And you, Dean?”

As expected, he had no fucking clue. Sam wished he could kiss that befuddled little frown off Dean’s face. He was of course keenly aware that Dad was wishing he could  _smack_  it.

“I'm on, uh, Nordic languages! Yeah…”

John huffed and sat down in a chair beside his boys. “Alright, I know this is slow and tiring. But I need you to get serious yesterday. Got it?”

“Yes sir.” They chimed together, though Sam’s tone was a tad more sullen than Dean’s. As always.

John pulled out the photographs he’d taken from the haunted mansion in the nearby town of Kindred, and spread it out for the boys to go over once again. They were pictures of scribblings in dried blood, spread all across one of the walls in the garage. The ghost was a persistent little sucker with a penchant for messy and gory deaths. It had taken the lives of at least twelve people who’d made the mistake of ever staying there.

Twelve that they knew of.

“Alright, to get to the bottom of a haunting, what's the first thing we need to do?" John turned to his youngest first. "Sam?"

// Oh joy, pop quiz. //

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "ID the ghost."

"And with a haunting that goes back maybe eighty years, how do we do that?"

By now Dean was wide awake, enough. "We need to understand what this ghost is trying to tell us."

"That's good. Even if we can’t locate the words, we've got to match the script, anything that'd give us a clue to the person this thing used to be.”

Sam exhaled in a blatant display of his boredom, rested the side of his head in his left hand, his left elbow plonked onto the table. “What about the linguists professor at the university?”

John rubbed his brow. “He’s away on vacation in Honolulu. We got nobody else right now.”

“So we don’t even know what this language is, forget what it means. Dad, do you seriously expect us to figure this out on our own by tonight?”

John glared at him, and Sam knew he’d done it now. He could actually see the hackles rising, the smoke starting to snake out of his father's perfectly proportioned ears…

“Don’t listen to him, Dad. He’s on the rag today,” Dean interrupted, successfully distracting John, Sam scowled at him, even though he knew Dean was only trying to diffuse the impending explosion, as always.

Dean snatched Sam’s book and swapped it with his own quickly. “Here, you try Nordic for some time. We’ll do it, don’t worry, Dad.”

// No. We. Won’t. Not that anyone ever listens to me. //

Sam seethed in silence but reopened the big Nordics handbook. Dean opened the one with the Eastern bloc countries’ languages.

“How far did you get, Sammy?”

“Till Georgia.”

“Georgia?” Dean frowned as he peered into the table of contents. “That a country?”

John nearly groaned and stood up to return to his own research about the house's history. Sam hid behind the big handbook to laugh again. Dean toed him back in the shin, which was really more an annoyed brotherly gesture than a romantic one but it still kept them both entertained for a couple more minutes.

That is, until Sam spotted someone lurking in the aisles behind.

“Sammy? What is it?” Dean frowned and turned in the direction Sam was looking at, about his three o’clock.

All the blood drained from Sam's face. He was pretty sure he saw… someone he recognized but wished he didn't…

“Hey! Talk to me…”

Sam started and looked back at Dean, thinking fast. “Uh, I just... thought I saw a classmate from Boston but… that can't be, can it?”

When Sam looked up next, as did Dean, the shadow was gone.

“Huh," he frowned in confusion. "I must be seeing things. Forget it.”

"Are you sure that's all you saw?"

"Yeah, Dean, what else could it be?" 

Dean got up to check nonetheless, but found nothing and no one (thankfully) – natural or supernatural. Once he made sure there really was no one stalking them, he returned to his chair and to researching the undecipherable language of an annoyingly verbose ghost of unknown origins.

Sam allowed himself a sigh of relief, once he was positive Dean wasn't watching him anymore.

 

***

 

As Sam predicted, they weren't able to identify the script by sundown. John grudgingly relented and the Winchesters returned to their motel calling it quits for the day. Sam privately amused himself with his “I told you so” moment. And buoyed by the earlier events of the day (ahem… in the shower and all), he was still in the mood for more. Sadly, Dean did not quite share that sentiment.

The game of footsie made another appearance at the dinner table in John’s motel room.

Dean hissed at him after the fourth time, “Knock it off!”

Both straightened up just in time as John returned with three mugs of hot chocolate in his hands. His of course had a shot of Jack in it.

“What’s going on, boys?”

“Nothing,” they both chimed again, at once.

Sam struggled to school his face the way Dean so often and so easily did, except big brother wasn't having much luck either. He wondered what John saw in his sons’ faces – did he see the excitement, the triumph or maybe the unhealthy _dirtywrongdespicable_ obsession in Sam’s? Could he sense the guilt and the twitchy nervousness in Dean’s carefully crafted façade of cool?

John just frowned and turned away to watch the game on TV. Sam could practically  _feel_  the breath of relief leaving Dean’s body.

“You know I’m going to figure it out, sooner or later.”

They exchanged a quick look before Dean cleared his throat. “What do you mean?”

John's eyes gleamed with fatherly amusement. “When was the last time you boys managed to keep a secret from me for more than a couple of months?”

Dean smirked, "Sorry, can't tell you, Dad... it's a secret!"

"Smart ass," John snorted. "Get back to work." 

// Well. Shit. //

For all of Dean's ability to expertly deflect John's questions, he couldn't suppress his own anxiety just as well. Sam could literally see the shutters slamming down around his big brother. He wished with all his heart for telepathic powers so he could read his brother's blackbox of a mind.

Why did John always have to open his big mouth and ruin everything?

 

***

 

That night, when Dean and Sam returned to their own room, Sam didn’t even dare approach him. Dean was strung up real tight, their father’s words making a bigger impact than he was letting on. Sam was so used to the whole rebellion thing – being the cynical, no-good black sheep of the family came pretty naturally to him. But this must be so new to his big brother, the good son, the obedient soldier… the one who always got the extra cookie…

“Dean?”

“Yeah.”

Dean had just flopped himself onto his bed on his back, absently twirling his Swiss army knife around in his left hand. The fact that he hadn't spoken a word since they got back was telling enough. And for once, Sam wanted to be the stronger one, the one to console his brother and tell him that everything was going to be okay. That it wasn’t really that big a deal…

“Are you mad at me?”

// Stronger, huh? You gutless runt… //

Dean turned to look at Sam. In the dim light, Sam could see that for once he wasn’t pretending, or pulling his big-brothers-don’t-get-freaked crap on Sam.

“No, Sammy. I’m not mad at you. Go to sleep, okay?”

"I have to pack..."

"Don't worry, I got it."

As simple as that. Then he turned away again, his eyes glued back to the ceiling.

Sam slowly stripped down to an undershirt and boxers and slipped under the covers of the other twin bed in the room. After awhile, Dean got up and started packing up their things into their two duffels in absolutely no hurry, avoiding looking at Sam at all costs. Sam figured Dean must be waiting for him to fall asleep so they didn’t have to talk or… do anything else for that matter…

He turned the other way and burrowed under the covers, plunging himself into the pitch black. He bit his lower lip hard to stop it from trembling, bullied himself mentally into not being such a fucking girl. In that moment, he hated John Winchester more than he’d hated him ever before.

Sam didn’t know how long he lay like that. He was so busy pretending to be asleep that he didn’t realize when he slipped under for real.

 

***

 

Saturday morning rolled in, bright and warm, and if Dad were to be believed, absolutely perfect for a moving (again) into their new (temporary) home. Sam reacted with his usual ‘whatever’ attitude, gathering the last of their meager belongings together that Dean didn't get to the night before. Meanwhile Dean headed out to pack up the stuff in Dad’s room, and John went to check out.

Dad really did seem kicked about it for a change. Apparently the house was in a nicer neighborhood, and big enough that his boys could have their own rooms if they wanted. He’d apparently got it for a freaking steal from the realtor, because the house had had a ‘teeny tiny poltergeist’ problem.

Dean drove, as usual, following Dad’s truck with Sam sat beside him, restless hands buried in his pockets.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

"Tapping your foot."

"It's my damn foot and I'll do what I want with it."

“So long as you do it in sync."

"WHAT?"

"You're out of sync, and you’re messing up the rhythm, man. Do it right or don't do it at all!”

Sam rolled his eyes and looked out of his window, clamping down on his bouncing foot. God forbid anything should come in the way of his brother’s quality time with Led fucking Zeppelin.

_I said baby, you know I’m gonna leave you._

“Do you want your own room?” Sam couldn’t help it, the words tumbling out before he could bite his stupid tongue. But the way the question caught his brother totally out of the blue was in a way, gratifying enough. It probably meant Dean hadn’t been thinking about it himself, _maybe_.

“Why would you think that? We’ve roomed together ever since… well, you know…”

Yeah. Ever  _since_.

Ever since the concept of keeping the baby of the house far away in a separate nursery became a horrifying thought to the newly widowed John Winchester. Ever since Dean, then a four-year old toddler, started to crawl into Sam’s crib at night and curl up around his baby brother to keep him safe. Be there if he ever woke up at night and needed to be fed or changed or simply held.

Sam remembered the time right after he turned twelve when he’d started to push the envelope and demanded a little privacy. It never did go down well with the older Winchesters. Sure they backed off just a bit, like not following him around on his study group sessions and such. But he never did get that single room he’d wanted so badly, even when they _could_ afford it.

Sam smiled sadly, reminiscing how he’d felt so stifled and imprisoned back then. And four years later here he was, wondering if maybe Dean was now feeling the same.

“I just thought… with what Dad said last night…”

“What Dad said didn’t change my mind about... us,” Dean said, looking right into Sam’s wide green eyes. “Did it yours?”

Suddenly, Sam could see what Dad had been harping on about all morning. It truly was a beautiful day for the fag end of winter. He bit his lip before looking away from Dean’s heated gaze.

“No. No it didn’t.”

Dean nodded, glanced ahead at Dad’s truck briefly before reaching out to ruffle Sam’s hair. In case John was looking back in his rearview mirror right at that very moment – it could’ve just as easily been a rare brotherly gesture. But the way Dean’s fingers lingered a little longer than usual, told Sam that it was anything but.

He smiled. Didn’t even complain when Dean turned up the volume.

_I know, I never leave you, baby.  
But I got to go away from this place, I’ve got to quit you._

 

***

 

The house was partially furnished but had everything the Winchesters would need. On the second level were three bedrooms and two bathrooms, and the first floor had a homey-looking kitchen with a large dining area attached, living room with a fireplace and a pretty long and tasteful foyer leading up to the stairs. Hell, they even had an attic.

“So what do you boys think?”

Dean looked as uncomfortable as he probably felt as he glared at the white lace curtains on the giant windows.

“I’m not mowin’ any lawns,” he finally grunted.

Sam just stood with his arms crossed, unwilling to admit how much this little piece of  _normal_  was warming him up inside.

Dean swallowed hard before he spoke. “Dad… um, we’ll room together. The bedroom on the right’s got twin beds.”

Sam wondered how long Dean had been working to get those two sentences out. But John didn’t look surprised at all.

“You could’ve used those beds three years ago, kiddo. Not anymore,” he said walking over to Sam’s side. Then he clasped the back of Sam’s neck and smiled.

“I’ll just have to go and buy you a couple of bigger ones. You boys sure did grow up fast. Too fast.”

// Okay that’s it. He is  _trying_  to make you cry and look stupid in front of Dean. //

Sam cleared his throat deliberately and twisted out of Dad’s reach on the pretense of unpacking. A knock on the door stopped them all short.

John checked the pistol in his jacket and the boys took up position next to the nearest firearms before they exchanged nods. Then John looked through the eyehole and opened the door.

“Hi there!! You must be the Winchesters. Tracy told us you would be moving in today!”

Tracy the realtor sure had a big mouth. John smiled as brightly as he could, and greeted the woman standing at their doorstep. “Uhh yes we are, and yeah we did.”

She was a cheerful looking, middle-aged, slightly plump woman with bob-cut jet-black hair and bright hazel eyes. She was casually dressed in a bright pink sweater, a single string of pearls around her neck and a plaid skirt ending well below her knees. She had a touch of Sicilian in her accent that Sam found… quite appealing actually.

“My name is Rosa, Rosa Biaginni. We live next door to you right there. Just thought I’d drop in and say hi!”

“That’s mighty kind of you, Mrs. Biaginni.”

“Oh, call me Rosa please.”

John laughed. “Okay. I’m John. Do come in, Rosa. And who might this be?”

Dean and Sam had been curiously following the exchange, and now craned their necks to look at the second person walking up behind the lovely Mrs. Biaginni.

It was a girl… probably in her late teens or early twenties, shy and slim and amazingly tall. She wore a figure-flattering white fleece jacket and skinny jeans, the ends of which disappeared within knee-length brown leather boots. She had her mother’s eyes and hair, only it was long and fell all the way down to the middle of her perfectly sized waist. Almost a young version of what Rosa might have been twenty years ago.

A dropdead knockout.

“This is my lovely daughter, Sylvia.”

“Hello, Mr. Winchester.”

// Damn, even her voice is fucking perfect. //

Sam swallowed, and discretely turned to look at his brother, afraid but already knowing what he was about to find.

Dean’s eyes were busy touring the long length of the beautiful Sylvia Biaginni from head to toe and then back again. Sam really ought to give him credit for not drooling at the mouth, yet.

John was the perfect picture of domesticity. “Nice to meet you, Sylvia. Do come in! Sorry, as you can see the place is still a mess…”

“Oh that’s alright! I know you’re still unpacking. And oh my, who are these two handsome young boys?”

Sam forced himself to smile. Meanwhile Dean (so very eagerly) stepped forward to shake hands with the women while John introduced them.

“These are my sons. This is Dean the older one, and that’s Sam…”

John raised an eyebrow at him but Sam completely ignored him and stayed where he was. He did continue to smile and waved as politely as he could.

“Hi… hi…”

Damn it he couldn’t even bring himself to look at the girl. Her entire body language had suddenly transformed the moment she laid eyes on his… his Dean. She was smiling more than necessary, fixing her hair and fucking preening like a horny diva bitch. And Dean wasn’t helping matters either by being all… like, all…  _himself_.

Rosa seemed nice enough though. “Well Tracy told me it’s just the three of you boys so…”

It was then that Sam noticed the foil-covered tray in Sylvia’s hands. “… we brought you a little casserole for lunch. It’s my mother’s special lasagna. Hope you boys like meat?”

“Thank you Rosa, this is so  _very_  kind of you.” John was thanking her profusely even though Sam knew he wouldn’t let them touch it before he’d done a complete background check on the Biaginnis, and a couple of chemical tests on the food as well. Dean took the casserole from Sylvia and they were now talking animatedly.

Hot chick  _and_  food. Together. Clearly Sam didn’t stand a chance.

Both the older Winchesters were working the good old family charm on the two women like there was no tomorrow. The two conversations carried on around him, everyone pretending he wasn’t even there and Sam seething with every inch that Dean got closer to that stupid _female_ Sylvia.

“So John, the opening for our new restaurant is tonight. It’s just around the block by the strip mall actually. I’d love it if you and your boys could come join us as my personal guests?”

// Yippee! Why don’t you just ask for Dean's hand in fucking marriage while you’re at it?? //

“Oh wow. Rosa, thanks but…”

“Come on, John. Look at your little one here. Don’t you think he could use a little fattening up, Italian style?”

Suddenly everyone in the room was quiet and looking at him. Sam felt and probably looked like Bambi caught in the headlights of inevitable social doom.

John chuckled and ducked his head to think. Sam could see his dad’s defenses were being slowly but steadily worn down by this friendly neighborhood food-woman. So much for the famous Winchester paranoia. 

“Okay, Rosa. We’ll be there.”

“Wonderful!” Rosa cheered up quite significantly and then pressed an invite into John’s big hands. “Drinks are on the house, and we start at seven. See you there!”

Sylvia seemed a little reluctant to say goodbye and Sam was sure Dean would have stepped out to see her off if he hadn’t spotted Sam narrowing his eyes at him.

When the door closed at last, John was sniffing at the casserole and Dean was biting his lip guiltily as he looked up into Sam’s eyes.

Sam shook his head. Just his damn luck to be stuck in a family of freaks, himself included.

 

***

 

They continued unpacking and settling into the house, which didn’t take so long and after lunch the Winchesters were back to researching the ghost of Kindred.

The attic seemed the perfect place for their little stash of books, weapons and all the other stuff… charms, cursed objects, herbs with alleged magical healing qualities. They moved up a bookcase, a small round table and three wooden chairs along with a table lamp, and it became the perfect workspace for the hunters.

John stood at the window with a cup of coffee in his hands as they reviewed the facts of the case.

“Okay so the house was actually a hotel, or inn to be more precise, built in the eighteen nineties. The unexplained murders started in 1924. A William Abbott of Fargo and his new wife Debbie check into the hotel on January 26th, not two days after their wedding.”

Sam frowned. “Honeymoon?”

“I guess. On the night of January 27th, Abbott is arrested for brutally killing his wife. Slashed her throat and watched her drown in her own blood. Till the last day of his life he maintained he didn’t do it.”

Dean licked his lips. “So that kicks off a string of murders all with the same pattern – couple checks in. Day later, the husband slashes the wife’s throat, only he claims he didn’t do it. Has no memory of how his fingerprints got onto the weapon or how the woman’s blood found its way all over his clothes.”

“So whatever killed those women possessed the husbands to do it.”

“Yes. But the pattern doesn’t hold for every couple checking in. In the next three years of all the people who pass through Kindred and stay at the inn, only three other couples fall victim to the ghost… the Fritcheys in September of 1924, a  _something_  Husseini and Laura Edwards in May 1925…”

“They weren’t married?” Sam asked and Dean shook his head in response.

“Not according to these records. And the third couple was the Wallings in October 1926 who came all the way from Texas,” Dean stared out into space, “only for one to be murdered in her sleep and the other to be hanged to death.”

Sam sighed. “Different times of the year, people from different places… did they all stay in the same room? Maybe the one with the writings?”

Dean shook his head again. “Separate rooms. The room where the writings emerged, the innkeepers locked it up, never rented  _that_  one out again.”

Nothing was making any sense. There seemed to be no pattern at all.

“Over time, as the bodies pile up, the reputation of the inn becomes completely unsalvageable. So they finally shut it down in 1928, and it stays abandoned until…” Dean paused to look over his notes, but Sam remembered the date.

“1962. The Trevors buy the property, rebuild it as their winter retreat home. And they live in it happily and  _uneventfully_ , until 1967.”

Sam paused then, looked at John for explanation. “What I don’t understand is - if the Trevors rebuilt the whole house, how could they have missed this writing on a wall? In human blood no less?”

John sighed. “Well, looks like the innkeepers covered the wall up with a massive wardrobe because painting over them didn't work. And when the Trevors rebuilt the property, they turned that section into a garage and did pretty much the same thing – they couldn’t get it off or paint over it, so instead they built a seven-level tool shelf in front of it.”

“Just like that?”

Dean shrugged. “It’s not like they understood what it says. Maybe they didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Sam sighed and sat back, reminding himself that most people do not believe in the supernatural and may not give such things a second thought. “Okay, so what happened in 1967?”

Dean continued the story. “Christmas eve, party of twenty-two people in the house. The next morning, they find the Trevors’ twenty-four year old son Alex dead; his throat is slashed in the exact same MO as our ghost’s. Allegedly he was killed by a family friend, Jim Manners. He too claimed to have no recollection of ever doing it.”

“So the pattern changed?”

John was silent for a long while before he sighed. “I spoke to a surviving relative who was in the house that night… she claims that Jim and Alex were lovers.”

Sam shivered. “So, another couple. That's the lowest common factor so far.”

John swallowed. “Yep. The legend of the haunting returned that year, and the house was abandoned again, until 1991 when another poor bastard bought the place for peanuts.”

“The Jacksons,” Dean read off a newspaper clipping. “This family lives there for seven years, raises four kids and sends all of them off to college. Last Thanksgiving, they all return and three of them bring home their significant others. Next morning the youngest daughter Michelle is found dead in her bed right next to her fiancé, Joshua Larson. Larson is arrested, but two days later he hangs himself in his prison cell.”

Sam rubbed his eyes, you’d think after so many years of doing this he’d have gotten used to the blood and gore. Times like these he wished he could be as numb to it all as his family evidently was. John returned to his seat at the table.

“So that’s all the facts of the case. I’ll leave it up to you both to deduce a pattern because frankly, I’m not really getting anywhere with this.”

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing that to be so  _not_  true. This was another one of John’s manipulations… he’d keep working at it but pretend like he wasn’t and was depending wholly and solely on the boys to figure it out.

Dean remembered the writing on the wall. “Maybe we should start with the first couple – the Abbots – see if their origins included that cryptic language in any way.”

Sam spoke up just as Dean was getting up to go back to the library. “Yes, but… how do you know they were the ones who started this? What if they were the first  _victims_  of this ghost that had existed before they came to the inn?”

Dean sighed and sat back down. “Well, that’s just great. But there is no recorded history of any violence or death in the place before them.”

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

Dean agreed that Sam had a valid point. This was a tough one to crack and they didn’t even know where to begin. John was surprisingly the first to concede they were tapped out. 

“Well… we’re not getting anywhere with this tonight so let’s take a break. Go wash up both of you, I promised Rosa we’ll be there at her restaurant opening tonight.”

Sam pouted like the almost sixteen-year old he was. “I don’t wanna go.”

But Dean clearly wanted to, big whoop there. “C’mon Sammy, it’ll be fun! It’s one of those normal social things you’ve always wanted to do, ain’t it?”

// Yeah, ‘cause  _that’s_  the reason why you want to go, you horny pig. //

“You guys go ahead, I’m going to the library. See if maybe we missed something that happened before 1924.”

“But Sam…”

Before Dad could say another word, Sam picked up his jacket and all but stomped out. At the stairs landing though, Dean caught up with him. Grabbing his right wrist from behind, he spun Sam around until he was caught off-balance and falling against Dean’s chest. Naturally, the older brother caught him… held him in place.

“Let me go,” Sam hissed as quietly as he could, not ready to have John come bounding down and witness this.

Dean just held him with his other arm, tighter. Looked into his eyes and hissed right back. “It’s not what you think.”

“Yeah right.” He tried to leave, but Dean wouldn’t let him.

“We talked about this, Sammy. Things we’re supposed to take care of if we wanna make this work, remember? Like acting _normal_?”

Sam struggled harder. “Fine. You wanna go feel up that girl to act normal, be my guest. But I don’t have to watch, do I?”

If he had any idea how petulant he sounded, he didn’t show it. But Dean’s sudden smirking just made his lip jut out more. “C’mon little brother, you have no reason to be jealous…”

Sam looked away, Dean’s intense glare getting too hot for him to match. Dean leaned in closer, pressed his face against Sam’s and softly blew into his ear sending tremors coursing down his spine against his will. Damn the things Dean could do to him…

“Shhh…”

With his other hand Dean started to rub his back, firm and rhythmic long strokes, as if to soothe a skittish mare.

“Don’t you trust me, Sammy?”

His voice, so deep and raspy and downright sinful, was quickly changing Sam's opinion on the matter at hand. Of course he trusted Dean, with his life. But when it came to girls Dean didn’t exactly have a very distinguished record.

Dean was by now tonguing Sam's earlobe like his life depended on it, and Sam was on the verge of giving in and falling real fast. “Dean… ah! Stop…”

His brother nuzzled into his hair, biting his ear just hard enough for it to tingle and Sam’s spine responded by arching up. God help him, if Dean kept this up…

“You have to trust me, Sammy. This is not just another fling to me. This is  _you_ …”

Sam exhaled and closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him like balm to his seeping wounds.

“Okay…” He gasped, “I’ll come.”

“That’s my boy,” Dean grinned against his cheek before kissing it softly. He pulled back and looked into Sam’s wide eyes, then without warning or preamble, closed his mouth over his.

They were out in the open, vulnerable, with John only a flight of stairs away. And Dean was kissing him.

Sam didn’t know if it was the thrilling fear of possibly getting caught by Dad, or the way Dean had just whispered the words ‘this is  _you_ ’ in his ear. Or maybe it was due to the fact that Dean hadn’t touched him like this since the day before in the shower…

Didn’t matter.

This was totally the hottest and most turned on he’d ever been his entire fucking life. And the sudden rush of endorphins infused Sam with hope that despite a rocky start, from here on out this day could only get better.

 

***

 

It was an absolute disaster.

Sure the restaurant was beautiful, and Rosa got them a great table right next to the dance floor, and the drinks were free (mocktails for Sam and Dean of course) and the food was delicious, the chocolate fountain was huge… hell even Dad seemed to be relaxed that evening. Sam had very rarely seen that happen before.

Which was probably the problem, because suddenly John was taking very avid interest in Dean’s love life.

“Go on, kiddo. Shouldn’t keep a girl like that waiting, you know?”

To his credit, Dean did try to get out of it. He shrugged, rubbed the back of his neck shyly, even shook his head by maybe about a quarter of a fucking inch. All the time keeping the tall girl in the little black dress in his peripheral vision.

“Hey I’ve never seen you hold back like this before. What’s the matter, Deano? Someone else on your mind?”

Sam nearly choked on his Cherry Sprite before glancing sideways to see how Dean intended to react. Dean looked back at him with his usual smartass demeanor in place. If he was acting, he deserved a fucking Oscar for this one.

“Nah, it’s not that, Dad. I just…” that useless shrug again, “my head’s still in the case, I think.”

// Let it go, Dad. Let him the hell be... //

“Son, I appreciate your professionalism,” and John’s voice was very nearly a slur by this point. Single malts often did that to him. “But for once I want you to go and have some fun.”

He clasped Dean by the nearest shoulder and held on longer than he had in ages. “You deserve it, kiddo. Go on. Before her warm gaze turns into icy glares, go on…”

Dean stood up shakily, looked at his little brother for just a second… but whatever he was trying to convey with his eyes, Sam was not buying period.

He spent the next hour dancing and chatting with Sylvia, and maybe the rest of the evening too… Sam didn’t stick around to find out. John got a phone call from Caleb around eight, so he rushed out, stone cold sober suddenly, just like that. Sam sat at their table – alone and getting more and more miserable by the minute – until he couldn’t take it any more.

He got out and ran all the way back to the motel they’d been staying at until yesterday, before turning around to run back to their new house. And no, it wasn’t because he forgot.

Sam enjoyed running, no doubt. The explosion of pain in his lungs from the exertion usually helped to distract himself from whatever it was he was running _from_. But somehow it refused to work for him today. He couldn’t wipe away the images of Dean,  _his_  Dean… brushing that bitch’s hair back from her blood red lips. The way he smiled as he carried on feeding her lies about his very normal life and his very normal family. The way they danced… their bodies perfectly molded against each other, people cheering, clapping… yakking away about how cute they looked together.

Sam ran as hard as he could, until he couldn’t possibly run anymore.

It was fifteen past eleven when he finally got inside the house, his legs cramping and chest heaving with exertion as he slowly climbed up the stairs to his new bedroom. He pushed open the door and didn’t bother to switch on the light, but somehow it turned on all by itself.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Sam nearly stumbled, blinded by the sudden glare of the halogen lamp and not expecting Dean to be back so soon, hell to be back at all tonight.

“Out.” He offered uselessly, and went to the bed by the window that he’d chosen.

“Sammy, do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? How can you just take off like that? Isn’t it bad enough Dad does it, now you’re doing it too?”

“I was acting  _normal_ , Dean. Isn’t that what you want me to do? Act fucking normal? And this is what I normally do! Run away when I get sick of all your fucking crap.”

Sam knew his voice was more vicious than it’d probably ever been, but he didn’t care. He hurt. Why shouldn’t Dean?

He quickly turned away, shrugging out of his jacket while still struggling to catch his breath. Stars were born and died in the time that passed before Dean could think of anything to say, not like Sam was interested in listening to any of his excuses or explanations.

“I looked up and you weren’t there. And I left right then.”

“…”

“Sammy…”

“Stop calling me that!!” Sam yelled, not caring if Dad was back home or not. _This is you_ , Dean had said. And Sam had believed him, with all his heart.

“Tell me what you want, Sam…”

“…”

His arm was violently wrenched until he was turned to face his big brother. “What do you want me to do, damn it?”

“…”

“…”

“On your knees.”

“… What?”

“I want you on your knees.”

// What the fuck am I doing? //

A part of Sam was horrified, but the rest of him was simply too angry, too enraged, too jealous and too… too deranged to listen to any reason or rational thought. The look of disbelief in Dean’s eyes did absolutely nothing to appease his pain. And even that slowly but surely melted away to nothingness, leaving his brother’s face stone cold and blank… as always.

Dean let go of his arm and his spine went straight as a ramrod.

“If that’s what you want…”

Sam ground out the next words, tears blurring his vision but he didn’t pay them any heed. “Down. On your knees.  _Now_.”

Dean did as he was told. Bowing his head, flexing his jaw until the nerves pulled taut and visibly rigid from under his tanned skin. He didn’t look up into Sam’s face again.

This was how it was always going to be… dirty. And wrong. And downright disgusting, and angry and bitter and just… fucking…  _wrong_. No one would ever clap and cheer and say how great they looked together. No one would invite them to their celebrations, or urge them to do the waltz in front of everyone, or drink to their happy lives together forever. This…  _this_  was all they’d ever have.

All Sam could ever possibly hope to get.

He stepped closer, his chest heaving, nearly hyperventilating with the adrenaline and the fury pumping through his veins. Dean didn’t have to be prompted again. Without waiting for permission or giving any warning, he reached for Sam’s jeans – deftly undoing the zipper and pulling back the fabric of the boxers underneath. Sam gasped, his heart skipping more beats than he could count because this… this had suddenly just morphed out of furious and insane, and into even more furious and insanely erotic.

// Stop! Stop now! Before this gets any worse… //

But Sam didn’t stop, and neither did Dean.

He pulled his little brother’s not so little cock out, stroking and massaging the warm, flaccid organ between his cold hands. Sam gasped and wheezed, threw his head back and closed his eyes, his fists clenching by his sides and his feet spreading out a few more inches to stabilize his weight. And then he just let himself feel… feel as Dean continued to fondle his shaft and roll the balls in his hands until he started to get erect.

This is what he needed… to feel this resurgence of power, the illusion of control, transfered back from Dean to Sam, feeble as it may be… and Sam reveled in it.

Dean leaned in, sticking his tongue out – licking at the quivering head once. Just once.

Sam’s eyes flew open and he looked down, gasped louder than ever before. God, Dean looked so damn hot and gorgeous down on his knees, with his mouth so tantalizingly close to his hard shaft. Dean gave the head a few more licks, teasing and provoking until Sam was shivering with uncontrollable desire. And then before he could prepare himself for it, Dean clasped his lips around Sam's pre-cum weeping head, taking him in inch by inch until all of him was buried in the moist silken trap that was his brother’s mouth.

“Ahhh! Cra-h! Fu-h!” 

Sam bit his lip, cursed himself for letting any sounds escape. This wasn’t exactly an act of passion now, was it? This was about Sam being the one calling the shots, damn it!  _Not_  Dean. But how long could he possibly keep it up anyway?

Dean gripped his slim hips with his right hand to keep Sam steady, and his left hand continued to massage his scrotum. His mouth meanwhile started to move, back and forth – slicking up the burgeoning cock from the tip to the very base. Sam noted the utter lack of gag reflex and realized that Dean had obviously done this before, which only served to make him angrier than he was.

He unfurled his fists and grabbed Dean’s head with both hands, and then he started to fuck his brother’s mouth furiously. In and out, in and out… feeling the warm tongue sliding against the length of his shaft and rapidly burning away large chunks of his hyperactive brain cells. His eyes rolled back into his head as Dean alternated the pressure of the suction, pumping Sam for all his worth and he kept it up until Sam couldn’t stand it any more.

He tugged at Dean’s hair, shivering and struggling to try and warn him… but words failed him completely and Dean refused to take the hint as well. Then it happened… Sam couldn’t hold back any longer and he came violently, screams burbling up his throat, inside Dean’s mouth.

His stomach muscles clenched painfully and his lungs contracted, his climax wrenching away everything inside of him and giving it all to Dean, who just continued to drink it all down.

Every single drop. Of fury. And envy. And frustration.

Sam’s face was still contorted into a pitiful grimace, and the mouth was still holding him captive, milking him dry when he had nothing left to give. With a fervent groan he pulled himself out, twisting away so he didn’t have to face the man on his knees anymore. All that heat and rage seemed to have been drained out of him and he was left trembling, falling from the sky and tumbling back to earth with a soundless thud.

He felt so utterly…  _ashamed_.

Minutes passed, maybe hours, before Sam zipped himself back up and stood supporting his shaking frame against the dresser. He tried to stop his wheezing but his lungs really wouldn’t cooperate and he didn’t blame them. What bothered him more was that he couldn’t hear a single sound or rustle behind him. Not one.

He finally turned, stricken with terror, only to find Dean still on his knees in the same spot that he was before… looking up into Sam’s face. His eyes were cold as ice, and they pierced right through Sam’s heart. There was a delicate string of jism still hanging by the left corner of his lips, snaking all the way down to his chin.

“Oh God… Dean…”

“Can I get off my knees now?”

“Y-Yeah… Dean… I’m… I…”

Dean didn’t wait to hear him complete that sentence, and honestly Sam didn’t think he even could. What could he possibly say to make this right?

Dean calmly stood up, kept his icy glare fixed at Sam for another few seconds before he turned to pick up his jacket. Then without another word he started to walk out of the bedroom.

“No! Dean stop, please don’t go… please…”

Sam really wasn’t expecting him to stop, but he did. Dean turned back to face him, still not wiping at his swollen lips almost as if he knew how much the sight of his debauched face was tormenting Sam’s conscience.

“Okay.”

That’s it. That’s all he said. Dean just stood there, like a lifeless robot, staring at Sam as if waiting for his next fucking instruction.

“Okay? What do you mean okay?”

“You told me to stay.” Dean shrugged then, his voice cold and embittered and for that Sam had no one to blame but himself. So instead, he did the only thing he was ever really good at.

He screamed.

“NO!! Stay because you  _want_  to stay, damn you! Not because I tell you to!”

Dean’s jaw hardened at that, and Sam’s heart imploded with paralyzing fear. He took one step closer to his big brother, his voice dropping to a sharp, wet whisper. “Dean what… what do  _you_  want?”

// Please… I’m sorry… don’t go… say you want me. As much as I want you. Say you want to stay please. I’m so so sorry… //

Dean didn’t even blink. Without a word he turned, and stalked out of the room for good.

 

*** **  
**

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So the boys finally have a talk, erm, kinda. Hope you like!

_**Fargo, North Dakota.  
** _ _**December 1998** _

_******************************* _

 

Once upon a time, there was a boy who absolutely loved school.

School was supposed to be his safe haven, his temporary escape from a life that may be the stuff Hollywood thrived on. But to him it was unkind and unsettling and totally unfair, and it was every fucking day. His life was the last thing he’d ever wanted for himself, or anyone for that matter. It was the life he’d ditch in a second if he could, if he ever had the choice. Which he didn’t. 

Not Yet. Obviously.

So yeah, compared to other kids his age Sam had an extraordinary appreciation for school. School was simpler. Gentler. Safer. Too bad this minor comfort was also now taken away from him. School didn’t seem challenging enough or safe enough, heck it wasn’t even remotely distracting enough anymore. Even here in History class, which was usually his favorite subject – he couldn’t pull his mind out of the hell he’d managed to create for himself back at home.

And he had no one to blame for it but himself.

Sam sat in the back, restless eyes trained out the window. With his right sleeve he wiped the occasional tear sliding its way down his pale face as inconspicuously as possible. It had been two days since… since that night he’d practically forced himself down Dean’s throat. And no matter how hard he tried not to think about it, the word just kept popping up in his head and he couldn't escape it.

 _Rape_.

He’d been so ashamed of himself he hadn’t looked up into Dean’s face ever since that night. He avoided running into or talking to him or being left alone with him in the same room. Hell he even went up to John at breakfast the very next day and asked for his own room.

“What?? Why?”

Damn, he knew he should have broken this stupid precedence and insisted on his own room back when he was four. Now he could offer nothing but a lame shrug. “Because.”

“Are you two fighting again?”

// Jeez Dad, is it that obvious? //

“What’s up with you guys anyway? One day you’re thick as thieves, the next day there is cold war-II going on in the house. Sammy… what are you two not telling me?”

Sam bit his lip and struggled to retain his composure. But before he could utter another word, Dean walked in from the kitchen with a pot of coffee and two mugs in his hands.

“Don’t worry about him, Dad. He’s just sulking ‘cause I won’t let him have the bed by the window. And I don’t plan to kiddo. Just be glad you’re not sleeping on the damn floor.”

John sighed and conveniently turned all his attention toward Dean. “You’re squabbling like a couple of pre-schoolers over bunk beds?”

Dean whined back with incredibly believable spirit, “But Dad, he always gets what he wants…”

And on and on it went, until Sam found his opportunity to pick up his satchel and quietly leave the house. After school, he went straight to the library to keep researching the Kindred case and he didn’t return until late evening. Only the thought of Dean coming after him to chase him back home, and the inevitable awkwardness that would ensue, made him return on his own. He skipped dinner and went straight to bed and didn’t come out from under his covers even when Dean stubbed his toe in the dark and yelped like a freaking banshee.

The day after passed exactly the same way, with Dean committing to extra hours on his new job at Mondavi’s garage. So it wasn’t like Dean tried talking to him either. God knew Sam secretly prayed that he would. But his big brother was just as hell-bent on avoiding him, which hurt so much more than anything else ever had.

How was he supposed to live under the same roof and face the guy day in and day out knowing what he’d done? There were brotherly fights and there were lovers’ spats and then there was  _this_. How was he supposed to ask for forgiveness when he knew he didn’t deserve any? And how was he supposed to live never having his brother’s arms around him considering Dean would never ever willingly touch him again?

// How am I supposed to live period? //

Sam sniffed and looked around, glad no one in class noticed his moping about like a lovesick 'N Sync fangirl. Hey, it wasn’t like he was crying in front of Dean, even though that would probably be the fastest way to get his protective big brother to capitulate. But no… Sam was not going to manipulate Dean into doing anything anymore. He’d done enough damage as it is.

“Mr. Winchester?”

Sam practically jumped in his seat, straightened up and turned toward the teacher. “Yes, Mrs. Connolly?”

The severe looking woman took off her reading glasses and glared at the boy who clearly hadn’t been paying any attention to her. “Perhaps you’d like to share with the class what you know about the Declaration of Independence?”

// No, I wouldn’t. //

But out loud, Sam just sighed, ignored the few students who’d turned around to stare at the new kid on the block, and he began.

“The Declaration of Independence was an act of the Second Continental Congress and was adopted on July 4, 1776. It declared the Thirteen Colonies in North America to be Free and Independent States and all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain to be totally dissolved.”

He didn’t notice the shock on Mrs. Connolly’s face and carried on…

“The Declaration is considered to be the founding document of the United States of America, where July 4 is celebrated as Independence Day and the nation's birthday. The document, formally entitled The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen United States of America explained the justifications for separation from the British crown, and was an expansion of Richard Henry Lee's Resolution that…”

Later, Sam couldn’t recall how long he’d been rambling before the history teacher coughed and interrupted his monologue, then quickly turned away more than a little embarrassed. The rest of the day was a blur. Once it ended Sam couldn’t wait to get out and find his usual spot in the library to get back to his research. He hadn’t been this eager to help out with John Winchester’s quest for the supernatural in… oh, years.

 

***

 

“Where’ve you been?”

It was a quiet, stern question delivered in the curtest tone possible, and Sam wouldn’t have thought much of it under normal circumstances. Except these weren’t normal circumstances and it made him flinch involuntarily. Without looking up at Dean, he brushed right past him and up to the attic where Dad sat poring over his research.

“Dad… I found it. The script is Armenian but it’s actually written in Turkish. It’s a cultural hybrid.”

John frowned and waited for Sam to reach him and explain further. Sam pulled out his notes and Xerox copies from his satchel. Dean hung back at the door listening in.

“I found this book called Akabi’s story written in 1851 in exactly the same script. It's really rare and nearly extinct, but it wasn’t that uncommon during the 1800s when Armenians were still a part of the Ottoman Empire.”

John straightened up with every word of Sam's excited report. He quickly scanned the documents and nodded, "Looks the same. Can you translate the writing on the wall?"

"Uh, I could only match two words - this here is ' **love** ' and..." Sam sighed, his eyelashes fluttering up towards Dean for a second before quickly darting back to John. "That one far as I can tell, means ' **guilty** '." 

Which wasn't much to go by, but it was a good start.

“Good job, Sammy. From what I know of Armenian history, the Turks starting driving them out sometime in the early 1900s, and things got pretty bad around the first world war. Wasn’t it supposed to be like the second biggest genocide in world history?”

Sam nodded, “It’s still hotly debated, but that’s what they say, yeah. So I started looking into the history of the inn to see if it had any Armenian connections and look what I found – in 1916, the original owners of the inn sold it to an Armenian couple, Alan and Magdalene Gregory. The Gregorys, after losing one son to a bloody massacre in Istanbul, took their younger son who was twelve years old at the time and escaped to America. Turns out a lot of refugees from Turkey during that time changed their last names to hide their Armenian descent when they started their new life in the States.”

John gleamed at his son proudly, “Finally the pieces are starting to fit. Dean, come here and show Sam what you found.”

Sam shivered, sensing Dean slowly closing in behind him, reaching out to the table to pick out a copy of an old news clipping, his warm, bare forearm ever so slightly grazing against Sam’s cold one.

Mistake, had to be a mistake.

Dean cleared his throat, “It’s from a news report about the first murder, Debbie Abbott.” Sam took a step to the right trying to discretely put some distance between himself and his brother as Dean started to read.

“This is the third tragedy befalling Mr. and Mrs. Gregory, the owners of this reputed inn, following the eloping of their daughter-in-law with their  _gardener_  last year, and the tragic death of their young and only son Benjamin in a bar brawl only a month later.”

Benjamin Gregory? Sam grimaced, with a name like that he wouldn’t be surprised if the man actually offed himself.

// Poor bastard. //

Dean looked up at his family and shrugged, “Apparently the poor bastard was all broken up about his wife running away, picked up a fight and got himself shot.”

Sam wondered how Dean did that, like he was reading Sam’s mind. “You think maybe Benjamin’s death started this?”

It was the first time he’d spoken directly to Dean, and the answer came back just as naturally. Like there was nothing wrong.

“A jilted and angry husband – pattern fits right? Anything’s possible.”

John shrugged out of his flannel shirt, “Alright. Good job boys. Think we made some progress here. Let’s check up on the place tomorrow.”

Sam nodded, assuming they were done. He couldn’t wait to escape to his room, maybe jump into a long hot shower and…

“Suit up. We’re sparring tonight.”

// Oh no. No. No. No. //

“Dad, I can’t. I’ve got homework and I've already wasted all day on this...”

He should have stopped at 'homework', not that it would've helped. John’s spine went rigid, more so than usual, and Sam heard Dean softly gasping behind him.

“How many times do we have to go over this, Samuel?”

Sam couldn’t do it. Not tonight, not right now when… when the last thing Dean would want was to be anywhere  _near_  Sam, he couldn’t put Dean  _and_  himself through this. No… he was not doing this.

“But I've been at this for days now, don't I deserve some time to myself…”

“Not another word from you boy! You think I forgot about the punishment for insubordination you’ve still got coming from last week? And now here you are, doing it all over again.”

Sam wanted to cry, the emotional rollercoaster he’d been on these last two days was simply too much for him and he just wanted it to stop. Years of reflexive instinct made him look up towards Dean for help. But he was taken aback by the complete lack of support or sympathy there, not that he should have expected any.

The look on Dean's face... so blank and cold, was what ultimately made Sam relent.

// You’d love to beat the shit out of me, wouldn’t you? //

Dean kept his gaze steady, completely emotionless. Sam swallowed hard and threw his bag down. “Let’s do it.”

 

***

 

No wonder Dad hadn’t been too happy when Sam came asking for the third bedroom as his own: he’d already turned that space into a freaking dojo for indoor training.

The boys were both dressed in sweats, Dean in a white muscle t-shirt with black pants while Sam wore his gray jacket over a short white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. They circled each other for awhile, no one willing to make the first contact and Sam knew very goddamn well why.

Dean couldn’t even stand the idea of touching Sam.

“Get on with it,” came John’s deep and bored voice from the side. Dean predictably obeyed and sprang to action, a punch breaking right through Sam’s defensive stance to swipe painfully at his nose. And then it was on.

“Watch it… watch it! You should start tying your hair back, Sammy. Always wanted a daughter, I did.”

"..." 

“Move your feet, Samuel. Move… damn it move!”

"..."

“You’re getting your ass handed to ya on a freaking platter, Sam!”

"..."

“Alright, time out.”

Sam watched (and privately smirked) as John kept getting more and more frustrated, clearly his youngest was not going to cooperate tonight. How could he teach Sam anything if he just wasn’t willing to learn? He huffed, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Dean, you talk to him. I’ve had enough of this nonsense.”

But before Sam could get his hopes up, John turned to him. “ _No_ , you’re not going anywhere until I say so, you hear me?”

With that John stalked out of the room, leaving Sam and Dean alone, facing each other, with nowhere to go.

// Great. Just great. //

His face felt swollen like it’d ballooned up to twice its size because of all the hits he’d taken already, and his side hurt where Dean had landed a mighty couple of punches in quick succession. But Sam still had no intentions of fighting back. Not really, just enough to keep goading his big brother on.

Dean snorted derisively, as they pulled apart soon as John left the room. “I know what you’re doing.”

Sam blinked, of course he knew. Dean always knew. “Just get on with it.”

The boys absently started to circle each other. “You think you can get out of this so easily? How many 'beatings' exactly did you think would be enough for payback, huh?”

Sam’s eyes watered, which angered him so much he lashed out, nearly sucker-punching Dean in the jaw but the older boy was too fast for him. He ducked and grabbed Sam’s arm by the elbow, spinning him around until he had his neck in a stranglehold from behind. Sam’s entire body trembled as it came in scorching hot contact with Dean’s front. He struggled to break free but Dean wasn’t letting go. Instead he brought his lips close to Sam’s ear and hissed angrily.

“Maybe I should turn you over my knee and spank your bratty little ass until it’s a bright shade of purple. That oughtta make me feel better, don’t you think?”

Sam quivered, struggled even harder to break free because Dean’s words were just as cold and spiteful as they were… hot, and fucking erotic.

“Dean…”

“Except it might not work, ‘cause you might actually like it. Wouldn’t you, little boy?”

Suddenly Sam was just as pissed off as Dean. What right did he have to toy with his emotions like this? He knew the effect his words could have on Sam and he was using that power to make him even more miserable. Sam closed his eyes and struggled to take in air against Dean’s strong arm pressing down painfully on his windpipe.

And yet somehow, a part of him still wasn’t convinced he didn’t actually deserve to be treated like this.

“You know,  _Sylvia_  would like it.” Dean breathed heavily into his ear.

Sam’s eyes snapped open.

“She told me she would.”

Sam gritted his teeth, pulled his free elbow up and then forcefully drove it back into Dean’s stomach. The older brother fell back, losing his hold around his neck and Sam broke free. Dean grinned in response, like he'd won a private bet or something but Sam didn't care. And then it was  _really_  on. Dean charged him again, and Sam swung back and this time he had no intentions of holding back. 

“What’s the matter, big brother?” Sam snarked after a lucky break that painfully delivered Dean to the floor on his hands and knees. “Suffered any excessive loss of  _body fluids_  lately?”

Which, he should have known, and maybe he did, was absolutely the worst thing he could have said. No one needed another reminder of the fiasco two nights ago, least of all Sam himself.

Dean narrowed his eyes dangerously and grunted through his pain. “No more than _you_ , little brother.”

The punches and kicks got truly vicious right after that and from both sides. Ten minutes later, John walked back into the room and was stunned by the intensity with which his boys were pummeling away at each other.

“Uhh, boys? It’s called  _sparring_  for a reason.”

When another few minutes passed and there were actual drops of blood on the floor and on his sons’ faces and knuckles, he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Alright! Knock it off! What the f…?”

Dean halted and swung around to look at their father, who quickly bit his tongue. Dean wanted to smirk but was stopped cold by the glare John fixed him with.

“Dean… Go clean up and start dinner. Sam…”

Sam leaned against the closest wall holding his sides and trying to catch his breath. He was going to be so sore in the morning.

“I believe you have two hundred pushups to get done before sundown.”

Sam groaned. But he wasn’t the one who protested.

“Dad, maybe you should…”

Dean got cut off by ‘The Glare’ again. Sam for one simply couldn’t believe his ears, and kept his gaze locked at the back of Dean’s head instead.

John waited until Dean reluctantly turned away, grabbing a towel on his way out and left without once looking Sam. Then he twisted around towards his other son, his voice low and determined.

“Drop. Now.”

 

***

 

Sam drifted in and out of delirious sleep for a couple of hours. He was face down, his legs dangling off the edge as he lay almost diagonally across the length of his brand new bed. Couldn’t have possibly moved even if he wanted to, not that he tried and why should he? There was no reason to. But now there was something beside him, above him, shaking him like a fucking vodka martini… not that he knew how one shakes a vodka martini. Except what he’d seen in all those Bond movies.

“You’re slobbering, geek-boy. Wake up.”

Sam frowned, still half-asleep, as two fingers swiped at his lower lip making him realize his mouth was indeed open and he quickly pressed his lips shut. He nuzzled against the bed sheet, his body feeling heavy as lead and that’s when he felt two strong hands gripping his sides and turning him around. Dean practically lifted him clear of the bed before laying him down right, his head resting on the pillow where it was ideally supposed to be. Sam found his dulled senses awaken to sounds of running water somewhere in the background, but at that point he couldn’t care less.

“Can’t sleep now, Sammy. Wake up, come on.”

Sam groaned but finally managed to open his eyes to the vision of his beautiful brother leaning over him, a slightly worried (and maybe even guilty) expression marring his face. Dean had clearly had enough time to clean himself up. But one could see he'd taken quite a beating, as evidenced by the split lip and the purpling patches of skin around one eye. Sam would have smirked, if it didn't hurt his entire being to do so. 

“You hungry?”

In his current state, he felt both famished and nauseous at the same time. In the end though, the nausea won out and Sam shook his head, quietly wondering how Dean could have reverted to his caring, protective self so soon.

“Alright, maybe later. Get up, go park yourself in the tub.”

“What? Why?”

Dean sighed, “It’ll help take the soreness away. We’ve got a big day tomorrow, can’t have you distracting us all with your bitching and moaning.”

He pulled Sam’s shoes and socks off as he spoke, “We’re checking out Kindred, see if we can make head or tail of all this shit.”

The older boy returned from the foot of the bed and hovered in Sam’s line of sight again. “Don’t worry, I’ll write you a note.”

Then he started to pull Sam up into a sitting position on the bed. It hurt horribly to be moved, and yet Sam swallowed his pain and didn’t make a sound of protest. But he didn’t help in any way either. Honestly he was a little taken aback - he’d never been asked to take a bath since he was, what, seven? Eight?

A little yelp escaped his lips when he had to raise his arms to let Dean tug his t-shirt off. Dean’s touch immediately lightened up. A half-naked Sam tried to cover up the brief moment of awkwardness with a little scoff.

“So walloping me in training wasn't enough? Is _this_ your new way to get even?”

Dean’s face turned blank again. “You should be so lucky. Stand up.”

Sam shivered as Dean pulled his pants and briefs off with one swift tug, trying his best not to let Dean know how his brother’s proximity to his now completely naked self was screwing with his head, and a couple of other organs. Blushing hot and more than a little turned on (kinky bastard that he apparently was), Sam put both hands over his crotch and looked away… grimacing, waiting for Dean to stand back up and bark his next clinical instruction.

“Let’s go, kiddo.”

That didn’t sound like barking. Fact Dean’s voice was just as gentle as it used to be... once, before Sam went ahead and made a right mess of things.

Dean waited for Sam to start walking towards the bathroom and he followed right behind, almost as if he expected Sam to try and bolt so he wanted to be in the perfect position to catch him before he could. Sam imagined his brother’s eyes lustily inspecting his exposed backside with every step of the way and his entire frame quivered with reluctant delight.

Stepping into the warm water was at once both torturous and heavenly. He leaned back and sighed, letting his head come to rest against the rim and closed his eyes. It was a pretty big clawfoot tub, although he still needed to slightly bend his knees crooked so they didn’t stick out of the water getting cold. Sam wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed to hear Dean walk out of the bathroom.

“Don’t fall asleep.”

// Yeah. Yeah. //

Twenty minutes later, Sam was dozing off in the cooling water, steadily slipping downwards into the tub. He dreamt of Dean returning, soaping up a washcloth and lovingly running it across his neck, repeatedly teasing his nipples, stroking down to the very sensitive little dip in his belly…

“Told ya not to fall asleep.”

A cold splash of water right in his face had him gasping and waking up to reality. Dean was sitting on something right next to the tub, snorting down at him. Sam wiped his face and glared as Dean turned on the hot water again.

“How long was I…”

“About a half hour. Water's cold again, which was so not the point of this exercise. You’ll thank me in the morning, trust me.”

Dean’s voice was still bitter and cold, in sharp contradiction to the caring words. The combination made Sam’s eyes brim with tears and his patience to… well, break.

“Why are you doing this, Dean? You can just let me be, you know, don’t have to stick around when clearly you don’t want to.”

Dean flashed his stupid ‘look at me I’m so adorable’ grin. “I’m sorry. Is my _sticking around_ making you uncomfortable?”

Sam huffed, knowing what was coming. He’d cornered himself into a Catch-22 yes or no question, so instead he went with a sulking “Maybe…”

“Which is it, yes or no?”

Sam pouted like the teenager he was, “If I say yes you’re just gonna go ‘mission accomplished’! I know you.”

Dean grinned. “They why don’t you say no?”

“’Cause… I’m not a liar like you!”

It was the first thing that came to his mind and he just said it. Besides he still didn't believe Dean’s story about following Sam right after he left Biaginni’s restaurant but losing him in the crowd. Fact, he was sure Dean would have been more than happy to not have Sam watching his every move with that new girl of his.

Dean pursed his lips, all the humor from the past few seconds suddenly evaporating. “Look who’s talking.”

Sam frowned, unconsciously retreating back into the tub and away from Dean. “What are you on about?”

“Oh let's see, maybe an ex-boyfriend with a fetish for East Indian handicraft?”

"Wha- I-I don't know who you..."

"He was there at the library, waiting for you. I saw him, and so did you. But you outright lied to me about it then, and you just lied to me again, right now!"

Sam didn't know what astounded him more - the fact that Dean spotted Drew but stayed so expertly poker-faced about it, or the fact that he recognized (and remembered) the make and origin of Drew's scarf. He bit his lip, not sure what else Dean might know about Drew.

"I-I didn't know he was going to be there." A prostitute with a passion for books - romantic notion but who woulda thought?

Dean exhaled heavily, trying to get his temper under control. His eyes landed on the washcloth and Sam cursed whatever insane logic led Dean to believe he should be doing something with his hands. Dean picked up the washcloth and soaped it up. Sam just sat there, petrified, as Dean ran the coarse material across his neck and collarbone without once meeting his eyes. 

"Dean," he tried, voice quivering pathetically. "I-I didn't invite him there, if that's what you're wondering..."

"Maybe you didn't, Sammy. But you opened a door and let him into your life, and now I'll always worry about what you might do if this thing doesn't..."

Dean couldn't finish the sentence, but Sam knew what he meant. It wasn't true - even now that Dean no longer wanted to be with Sam, he'd never seek Drew out again. His soliciting days were _so_ behind him. But would Dean believe him, especially now after having caught Sam red-handed in a bit fat lie?

And he still didn't know the whole truth. God only knew what Dean would do if he found out Drew was a hooker. 

The walls started to close in from all directions. Sam wheezed hard, struggling to breathe around the ginormous lump in his throat. He pulled his knees up and wound his arms around them, wishing Dean would stop touching him, because the intimacy right then seemed just another cruel, blunt instrument he was using to torment Sam with.

"Finding you naked in a motel room with a man twice your age - you have no idea what that did to me, Sammy. That's like.. a brother's worst nightmare for God's sake."

"Dean, I'm so sorry..." 

“I tried not to make too much out of it, really I did. Told myself you probably got desperate. And so you just went for a cheap substitute, the first warm body you could find, an easy lay or whatever. I get that, been there myself.”

Dean still seemed intent on cleaning Sam’s heaving chest, one hand casually cupping some water in his palm and trickling it over the pale bare skin. And then suddenly he sighed and turned away, rubbing his eyes.

“But after Saturday night, after what happened between us…”

“That was a mistake, Dean. I’m really, really sorry, please…”

But Dean carried on as if Sam had never spoken, “I started to wonder if maybe… _I’m_  the cheap substitute? The first guy you ran into?”

“No! That's not what I think of you, Dean. And wh-who would I substitute you for anyway? Who else is there?”

Dean hissed practically into his face, “That is exactly my point! I know we never stick around in one place for you to meet someone you like. But _I’m always here_! I am an easy lay, aren’t I? You certainly treated me like one.”

The washcloth dropped and disappeared in the soapy water as Dean stood up, walked to the door and opened it, peeking out to check if their father was anywhere in earshot. Apparently John was still busy up in the attic. Satisfied, Dean locked the door again but didn’t return to Sam’s side. Just stood there with his hands gripping the doorknob, his chest heaving with the burden of words and fears that he still wasn’t willing to offload on his little brother.

But Sam heard them anyway, loud and clear. He couldn’t stop the tears anymore and sniveled softly, hugging his knees tighter to himself. Words couldn’t express the pain he felt, like a thousand knives puncturing his rib cage, only worse. No scales, man-made or otherwise, could measure the love he held for his big brother. And yet here he was, being asked to prove that he really and truly did love Dean. That Dean wasn’t just a replacement, a stopgap arrangement until something bigger and better came by…

“I want  _you_.”

And that was all he could manage, petulant and meek as it may be. Sam was too busy biting his lips because if he didn’t, the stupid sobs would burst through and he knew his brother had no patience for nonsense like that.

Dean scoffed and turned towards the boy in the bathtub, his eyes mysteriously bright. “How do you know what you want? You’re fifteen.”

“Six…”

“Shut up.”

Sam’s face crumpled and he looked away. Dean sighed, walked back toward him and sat back down by the side. Sam was suddenly acutely aware of how naked and vulnerable he was. 

“Besides, no matter what you say, no matter what I tell myself… this is  _wrong,_  Sammy. It’s illegal…”

Sam scoffed at that - Winchesters giving a rat's ass about the law - that'd be the day. Dean rolled his eyes too. “Alright, whatever. But it’s also just… not right. You’re my little brother, I practically…”

“…”

“Jesus... Sammy, I tried, I did. But it just doesn’t  _feel_  right.”

Sam looked up at him, feeling utterly rejected and now more than a little angered at being seen and treated like an immature kid. “Okay, let’s just for a minute assume you’re right. Maybe I don’t know what I want. And what I don’t know I want also happens to be  _illegal_  and wrong.”

Their gazes locked as if in challenge, and Dean waited, holding his breath.

“If you believe that, if you really think this is so wrong, then why do you keep doing this? I didn't physically force you into any of this, did I? Hell I couldn't, even if I tried. Then why did you just drop to your knees that night and not deck me in the face like I expected you to? Why did you invite me into the shower with you? Fuck why did you start this whole thing in the first place?”

“…”  

“Dean…  _Why are you still here?_ ”

“…”

// Answer me, big brother. Please tell me you want me back, because if you don’t… //

Dean did not respond.

Sam closed his eyes and let the last of his tears drip down his cheekbones into the soapy water. A minute later, he took a deep breath and looked up into his brother's eyes. He was done with the mind games and pretending that everything was okay. It was time to come clean with Dean, and maybe in the process, urge the older boy to admit to a couple of truths himself.

“I know what you're afraid of, Dean. You think I’ll leave if you don’t put out, don’t you?” Sam’s face twisted into a grim smile he couldn't help. “And this is your way of making me stay, keeping me here where  _you_ want me to be.”

Dean scoffed. "You make it sound like a fucking conspiracy. I'm not trying to ruin your life, Sammy, I'm trying to keep this family together, and you safe!"

"But look at the lengths you're willing to go to, Dean. Does that not strike you as... a little 'above and beyond', maybe?" 

Dean’s face was blank again. And cold. And eerily distant. Sam wanted to laugh. And he wanted to cry. But right then he had neither the energy nor the mental enterprise to do either.

“You’re not mad because that night I treated you like a whore.”

Dean stiffened.

“You’re mad because that night made you realize… you _are_ the whore. _You are_ _whoring yourself to me_.”

“…”

“…”

Sam had never truly realized the significance of the phrase “deafening silence” until now. A silence so loud, it drowned everything else in the world… joy, sadness, anger, happiness, lust, disappointment… nothing survived. And right this moment, not even love.

Dean stood up, put his hands in his jacket pockets and turned away.

“Finish up here and get your ass downstairs for dinner. You have ten minutes.”

 

***

 

Sam skipped school the next morning and the Winchesters drove the forty-five minutes to Kindred. Dean was, as usual, at the wheel of the Impala but for a change Sam was accompanying Dad in his Sierra Grande. John waited for like two minutes to hear an explanation from Sam but seeing as none was forthcoming, he let things be.  
  
Kindred was a small town that over the years had developed mostly into a cabin retreat kind of spot for the larger more urban city of Fargo. Miraculously, they did have a small town center that maintained an archive of all the town’s historical events and genealogies. That's where they stopped, hoping to identify the ghost of the haunted inn once and for all.  
  
Sam went through his stack of yellowing newspaper clippings for a third time, yawned and slumped back against his seat.  
  
“Maybe we should just burn the whole place down,” he whined to his dad beside him.  
  
“The Trevors tore it down and rebuilt it, remember? Didn’t work.”  
  
Sam frowned. “Maybe they didn’t tear down enough. Or maybe someone or something is buried on the grounds.”  
  
“Seems like it.”  
  
This case was definitely the most baffling one they had ever come across. Every ghost they'd encountered so far had a specific pattern of killing and chose their victims on very strict, selective conditions. But despite all these pieces of the puzzle they’d gathered so far, they still hadn’t been able to put it all together, or decipher the ghost’s motives.  
  
John sighed. “Alright. Let’s try going over everything we have again. In chronological order.”  
  
Sam sat up, “Okay. So the Gregorys - Armenian refugee family escapes the war in Europe and takes ownership of the inn in 1916.”  
  
John continued, “1923 – Benjamin Gregory returns from California with a wife on his arm, allegedly, even though we still have no record of this wife anywhere.”  
  
“1923 again – the wife runs away with the gardener. A month later – a depressed Benjamin gets himself shot to death in a bar brawl. 1924 – the first murder in the inn happens.”  
  
Sam paused to think at this point, “Dad, who among the Gregorys would write the Armenian script in  _Turkish_? And why? Especially after the tragedy they went through eight years ago?”  
  
Dean emerged from behind the shelves right at that moment. “Think I might have a lead on that.”  
  
He walked up to the table with an aging scrapbook in his hand, laid it out carefully for his family to see. “It is a portrait of a Mrs. Ruhi Gregory, commissioned by her brand new husband, Benjamin Gregory, in April 1923.”  
  
Sam and John stood up, peering into the scrapbook to get their first look at the missing wife. She was a slight but beautiful woman with dark curly hair and prominent features.  
  
Dean continued summarizing his findings. “It says here this work of art was never picked up or paid for because allegedly the subject ran away before the artist could finish his work and a month later Benjamin also died. The artist however didn’t throw it away and all his work got donated to the Kindred archives after his death.”  
  
“Ruhi…” Sam was the first to say it. “That’s a Persian word, isn't it?”  
  
Dean whispered what he’d been suspecting for a while now, “Did Benjamin Gregory really bring home a Turkish bride?”  
  
The implication rang clear as crystal even though one of them was actually yet to put it into words.  
  
Sam grabbed his satchel and pulled out the Turkish dictionary he’d borrowed from the library to try and decipher the scribbling. “Ruhi could be Arabic, Persian, or Turkish. It means ‘soul’. Or human ‘spirit’.”  
  
“…”  
  
Sam looked up at John and squinted. “She didn’t run away with the gardener, did she?”

 

  
***

  
  
Two vehicles came to a screeching halt in front of the cemetery and the Winchesters got out fast as they could. The new byte of information they’d just uncovered had propelled them to move, to freaking act. But to do what? Move where?  
  
John walked a few feet ahead followed by Sam who kept struggling with the strap of his shoulder bag and Dean brought up the rear, his hands still buried in his jacket pockets, as he scouted around for possible dangers to his family.  
  
“So who do you think the ghost is?” Sam asked his father. “Ruhi or Benjamin?”  
  
“Benjamin we can take care of, his grave should be here somewhere. Ruhi, I’m not so sure.”  
  
“Maybe she’s the one buried under that house.”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
Dean piped in. “Definitely.”  
  
As they searched, Dean continued to think out loud. “So he falls in love with a Turkish woman, marries her and brings her home. But succumbs to the pressure from his parents who are still suffering from the trauma of seven years ago and… kills her?”  
  
John interjected, “Maybe  _he_  didn’t kill her. Maybe the parents did.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Which would explain why Benjamin would be so distraught to go and get himself shot a month later.”

"Could also be guilt," Dean remarked, not looking at Sam at all, and Sam was glad for that.  
  
They found the grave and stood around it wishing they could get on with it right away. Except it was broad daylight and there were people around. And unfortunately grave desecration was still considered a major criminal offence.  
  
John sighed, “Maybe we should search the inn while its still daylight. It's a big place so might need to keep going into the night. Not that we're in danger of getting attacked. Clearly we don’t fit the pattern.”  
  
“Dad?” Sam had to ask, because apparently his father was seeing something he still didn’t. He hadn’t really looked at Dean all day to know what was going on in his head, and right now was so not the time to go there anyway.  
  
“What  _is_  the pattern?”  
  
John squinted against the bright sunlight, resisting the urge to glare at his older son who had the foresight to carry his shades. “Start with the first couple. Armenian and most probably Turkish. Two nations at war.”  
  
“Okay. What about the second couple?”  
  
Dean joined in the conversation then. “Newlyweds William Abbott and Deborah Almontaser Abbott. Christian and Jewish.”  
  
Beat.  
  
“Third couple? The Fritcheys?”  
  
The murders had been part of Dean’s research and Sam didn’t have much visibility into it. He waited for either Dad or his brother to respond. John simply shrugged, and Dean kept his eyes lowered. Apparently they didn’t know that one.  
  
John broke the silence. “Let’s skip that one for now. Fourth couple – unmarried, Ahmed Husseini and Laura Edwards.”  
  
Sam swallowed, the pattern coming into sharp focus by now. “Fifth?”  
  
Dean responded this time, “The Wallings. Found their wedding photograph in the Laredo Times, apparently it was bit of a scandal back where they came from in Texas - the woman was Cherokee.”  
  
Sam closed his eyes, “Sonofa…”  
  
He didn’t complete, although he had a feeling John would have allowed his cursing this one time because he looked mighty disturbed himself. Sam forged on.   
  
“Then the gay men in 1967. I just find it hard to believe no other gay couple stayed at the inn in the fifty years before them.”  
  
John shrugged. “Back in those times, it’s not very likely kiddo. Anyway let’s park that one too for now. Who’s next? Dean, what was wrong with Gracie Jackson and Joshua Larson?”  
  
The black shades covering Dean's eyes didn’t shroud the intense frown of his brows and the rigid stance of his body.  “Joshua was white. The Jacksons weren't.”  
  
“Damn it," Sam did curse this time. "The ghost is killing off the women from every couple it thinks is not meant to be together. I’d have thought there’d be more such instances, why just these few couples?”  
  
John shrugged. “This is North Dakota, Sammy, and Kindred is an even smaller town with barely six hundred people, most of them white and Catholic. I won’t be surprised if there really haven’t been any other instances where the couple was, according to this ghost, not meant to be together. Couples that it thought were just…  _wrong_.”  
  
// Wrong. //  
  
Suddenly, the reason for Dean’s stone-cold rigidness became clear to Sam. He’d known his brother long enough, followed him around long enough to recognize the signs and no matter how well Dean thought he was hiding it, Sam could still see right through it all.  
  
Dean was scared. No, he was fucking terrified.  
  
Dad was about to drag them both into that house thinking they didn’t fit the pattern but they did. Wow, they  _so_  did.  
  
“Okay, let’s go.” John started walking and Sam just followed, mostly on auto-pilot. Only to be pulled back roughly by an arm and twisted around until he was facing Dean.  
  
Dean took off his glasses then, confirming Sam’s thoughts because his eyes were absolutely livid. “Make up an excuse. Tell him your legs still hurt or something. Wait in the car until we get back.”  
  
This was the first time Dean had addressed Sam in the first person all morning. The contact, harsh and so unbelievably far from romantic as it was, still sent fresh warm tingles through the younger boy’s spine and he shivered.  
  
“Let go of my arm.”  
  
Dean just shook him harder. “You’re not coming in that place with me, Sammy.”  
  
“Dean, you’re hurting me.”  
  
Magic words that always worked like a charm (unless they were  _trying_  to hurt each other, obviously). Dean abruptly dropped his arm, looked around to see how far John had reached and stepped in closer to Sam.  
  
“Sammy, listen to me. This could get very dangerous.”  
  
Sam scoffed, “Any more than usual?”  
  
Dean glared and Sam rolled his eyes. “Look, I get it. You’re worried the ghost will possess you and make you attack me because we are… _were_ … fooling around.”  
  
Dean suddenly smirked, “Good to see you’re comfortable being the girl in this relationship and yeah. That’s part of it.”  
  
“Dean c’mon, be rational. There has to be a bigger reason than just being gay. Trevor and Manners couldn’t have possibly been the first couple in fifty years who…”  
  
“The Fritcheys.” Dean interrupted impatiently. “Daniel and Denise Fritchey. It's possible the inn keepers assumed they were husband and wife, or maybe they pretended to be.”  
  
Sam froze, suddenly realizing where this was going and not liking it at all.  
  
“They were siblings, Sam. Brother and sister. For all you know they weren't even doing the deed and the ghost still assumed they were! If one reason is not enough, we have two.”  
  
“…”  
  
“You are not going in. Period.”

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few things about the case facts: I know some of these will not be entirely accurate – historically or geographically or otherwise. I’d like to plead creative license and the fact that I’m not making any money off this little writing exercise :)
> 
> \- Kindred really is a town 40 minutes outside of Fargo. Picked up the basic facts like population and demographic from wikipedia but the rest is all fictional description.  
> \- Armenian genocide – I know this is a controversial topic. Even if it wasn’t a full-blown genocide, I believe there was definitely a situation where the Armenians were brutalized and forced to flee their land. While the exodus of Armenians from what used to be the Ottoman Empire had been going on since the first decade of the 1900s, the actual genocide is supposed to have occurred during the period 1915-1917. The Gregorys escaped Turkey during this time and sought refuge in the States, just like many other Armenians did during this time.  
> \- Akabi’s story – This is an actual book written in 1851. It is a love story of people belonging to two feuding communities.  
> \- The Gregorian Armenians was a specific religious group in the Ottoman Empire. I assumed the couple came to the States and changed their name to Gregory to maybe try and leave their painful past behind.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right I'm an idiot, and an extremely unreliable writer. But if you're still interested, here's the next part. This one is entirely Dean's POV for a change. And there is a lot of introspection going on, hope you have the patience to sit through it. The Turkish translation was done using an online tool and I have absolutely no idea if it’s accurate or not. If someone knows Turkish and sees mistakes, could you please point them out to me? Also, remember the year is 1998, not many people carried cell phones around back then. Beepers were more common if you (are old enough to) recall ;)

_**Fargo, North Dakota.  
******Thursday evening,** December 1998** _

_**************************************** _

  
Dean paced back and forth in the empty living room. Long, heavy strides from one corner to the next, feeling more and more trapped with every rotation. This wasn’t helping.  
  
His heart raced, his palms fisted into sweat-soaked balls and his eyes refused to stay focused at any one spot as he continued to pace. Looked up at the clock, checked it against his watch. It was nearly seven in the evening and already dark.  
  
// He’s okay. He’s coming back. He is not hurt… just mad. He’s not… he’s not… //  
  
Gone? No he’s not. Dean refused to believe that. For one, Sam wasn’t stupid. If he was running away he’d be sure to pack a few essential supplies for the trip but that dorky backpack of his was still up in his room so…

Of course unless Sam  _knew_  Dean would be looking for the dorky backpack and left it behind on purpose…  
  
// Damn it, Sam!! //  
  
Dean bit his lip and tried to relax his facial muscles that were now aching from his constant frowning. All he had to do was wait here and Sam would be back any minute. Any minute. He couldn’t be gone. Not like this.

Not  _now_. Not when Dean himself was starting to…

  
The door creaked open, throwing Dean’s thoughts in complete disarray as he spun around towards who he hoped would be…  
  
“Hey kiddo.”  
  
Disappointment had never been so physically agonizing before. Of course there was also a purely reflexive stream of relief that coursed through him; it was his father after all.  
  
“Dad!?! You’re back early?”  
  
“Yeah the job went quicker than… what’s wrong?”  
  
// What isn’t wrong? I screwed up, Dad. I screwed up so bad and now Sam’s… //  
  
“Dad…”  
  
John frowned, his duffel bag slipping off his shoulder as he advanced towards his oldest son. His gait was slow and measured, like he was trying not to spook a skittish horse; like he was gleaning a new piece of information from just looking at Dean's face with every step.

“Where’s Sam?”  
  
Dean swallowed, didn’t know where to begin.

How was he supposed to break it to John that Sam had run away, most probably to California to be with that girl Natalie, but most definitely to get away from Dean? How could be possibly admit to his Dad that the one job, the one responsibility he’d been wholly and solely entrusted with he’d fucked up, and royally at that? John was not going to let it go without needling out the whole story. He’d already lost his brother to his foolish cowardice. What did he think would happen when John found out the whole truth… about his sons? And not just one, but both of them? Together?  
  
“Answer me, boy.”  
  
John had a way of sounding particularly sinister when he lowered his voice. Dean found himself frozen in place by the hard gaze of his father with no way out. There was no choice left, he was at a complete loss. No tricks, no manipulations, no underhanded strategies to keep Sam happy and healthy and safe because so far everything he’d done had in fact worked to the exact detriment of his brother. He needed help. For the first time in a long time, when it came to Sam… Dean needed to be told what to do.  
  
He swallowed, looking up at the trust in his father’s face longingly, knowing he’d never see it again. And he began…  
  
“It started a few weeks ago. When we came to Fargo.”  
  
  
_***** _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_**_  
  
_**Earlier, Tuesday night, December 1998**_  
  
_***** _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_**_  
  
  
Dean still wasn’t sure what had happened.  
  
In the heat of the moment his vision swam then went completely red, and he found himself venting out weeks of his pent-up frustrations and anger at Sam under the guise of the sparring. How long they went at it, he couldn’t be sure. And then suddenly Dad was there, pushing his broad frame between the two feuding brothers, at once both pushing and pulling them apart. And that’s when Dean snapped back to his senses, realizing what he’d just done.  
  
Sam was bleeding from a split lip and his knuckles were bruised an angry red. He was nearly doubling over, no doubt suffering from a couple of painfully swollen ribs. And then to make things worse, Dad decided to slap him with last week’s pending pushups right after. It was the kind of punishment Dean’s body could take, hell  _took_  on a regular basis and he'd forgotten to protest a long time ago. But he’d done his best to protect Sam from it, all this time. He’d stood like a wall between his father and his brother, not letting the full impact of their graphically violent lifestyle ever touch Sammy. Not because he thought Sam couldn’t take it (hey, he was a Winchester, after all). But because he believed Sam shouldn’t  _have_  to.  
  
Who woulda thought Dean would be the one to hurt his own brother more than anything else ever had?  
  
And not just physically. Add another item to the list of dangers Sam Winchester needs to stay away from. Evil supernatural monsters, perverts and hookers, trucks on busy roads, and Dean fucking Winchester.  
  
“Sam!” Dad had called from the bottom of the stairs to get the younger boy to come down for dinner. “Sammy?”  
  
When no movement could be heard from upstairs, Dean slammed the kitchen towel down on the counter and stalked off before John could think of stopping him. He called after him nonetheless. “If he’s sulking you better let him be.”  
  
// Sure Dad, ‘cause that works like such a charm every time. //  
  
He found Sam face down on his bed, passed out diagonally, mouth wide open and drooling like a spaz. He reached with his right foot to switch on a nearby floor lamp the previous owners were probably in too much of a hurry to pack, thanks to their poltergeist guest. In its dim, yellow luminescence, Sammy looked so very small despite his height.

Almost frail.  
  
Dean’s footsteps softened as he slowly made it to Sam’s side, then knelt by the bed. He held out a hand to brush the long, slightly greasy hair off Sam’s face… but chose instead to fold his arms against his chest, tight. The bruises were starting to turn that weird shade of purple they always did on Sam’s pale complexion. And he’d be happy if the kid’s left eye opened at all the next morning.  
  
Dean didn’t dare touch him. And yet, every instinct in his very being, longed to take his brother in his arms.  
  
// And not exactly in a brotherly way. //  
  
Dean exhaled heavily, closing his eyes to push his guilt-ridden urges away. He’d already lost his composure once tonight and practically beaten the shit out of his little brother. No, he did not intend to do it again.

"Go park yourself in the tub," he grunted, once Sam was fully awake. The younger brother obviously bristled at the suggestion (not an order, Dean wouldn't have forced him if he really,  _really_ didn't want to) and did not move an inch. So Dean started to undress the kid himself, casually reminding himself it was nothing he hadn't done before as a big brother, strictly speaking. 

On second thought though, he probably shouldn't have stripped Sam down to his bare skin. Not when the sight of a totally naked Sam these days could completely de-commission his upstairs brain, and have his dick steer him ever so close to a dangerously tempting but forbidden place he absolutely shouldn’t go.  
  
Big mistake. One he repeated only ten minutes later.  
  
Dean had leaned against the open bathroom door for a long time, staring at the long, lithe form recumbent in the giant bathtub. He wondered if the previous owners too had a Sasquatchian kid in need of the occasional scrubbing down. Smiled, remembering how little Sammy used to hate, no,  _abhor_  the very thought of being bathed by John and he’d just barely tolerate even Dean doing it. Apparently he had figured out a lot earlier than expected that baths were for babies and he wanted to be a big boy like his big brother and since Dean always showered, that’s exactly what he wanted to do too.  
  
// Sure did follow in your footsteps, step for step, didn’t he? //  
  
Dean swallowed, hard. Pushing the gathering storm in his head away, he forced his own tired body into action and splashed a handful of water into his sleeping brother’s face.  
  
Sam sputtered as he woke up. “Hey!”  
  
“Told ya not to fall asleep.”  
  
It started out pretty innocently. Dean could see Sam was really exhausted, so decided to help out to speed things up. But innocence went straight down the drain when Dean picked up that darned washcloth. After just his fourth stroke across Sam’s quivering chest and down to his belly, Dean’s own hands were trembling and he was forced to press his thighs together… make sure Sam didn’t realize the state big brother was in.  
  
It bugged him. It bugged him so much that he had absolutely no control over his bodily reactions at all. Especially around Sam, where he needed it the fucking  _most_.  
  
Sam’s persistent allegations of betrayal didn’t help matters any either. How was he supposed to cheat on him with Sylvia when, ever since Sam kissed him couple of weeks ago in the motel, he hadn’t been able to so much as  _look_  at anyone else, let alone get it up for anyone else?

It's like something inside him had, just... snapped. Or clicked into place maybe, what the fuck did he know, all these stupid metaphors. It'd come on so fast, so suddenly out of nowhere and yet... some days he felt like it'd always been here, just... dormant, waiting around for a sign to rear its ugly head.

Basically, Dean was losing his mind. 

He was losing control of the situation and fast. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t get affected. Not when he  _knew_ … he knew this was nothing more than a harmless little (okay not so harmless, and not so little) stopgap arrangement for Sam. A way for his brother to have what he needed until he was ready to step out from under his father and brother’s shadows and find himself someone better, someone worthy.

Someone permanent.  
  
Someone right.

Because this thing, with Dean… was wrong. 

 _Dean_  was wrong.  
  
“I want  _you,_ ” Sam said, and sounded like he meant it. Dean didn't know if he wanted to smile, or weep like a love-struck teenager.  
  
// No you don’t. Not really. //  
  
There was a world of difference in wanting someone, and  _needing_  someone, and this cruel lesson had never been so obvious to Dean as it was at that very moment. Sam needed Dean only because there was no one else. While it may sound flattering when people said it to each other in the movies, Dean realized now it was actually really quite pathetic. And just this side of plain fucked up.  
  
// You need me, but only until you go away, to college. To your Natalie or whoever. //  
  
Dean was trying so hard to hold Sam back… keep Sam here with him, be one family, fucked up as it may be. But sooner or later, Dad was going to win.  
  
// He’s gonna push you away some day. And then where would I be? //  
  
Here he was, doing everything he could to keep everyone in this freak show of a family happy and together. And what did he get in return for his efforts? His fifteen-year old brother called him a whore.  
  
It was almost as if Sam had read his mind.  
  
The stiffness between his legs had by now entirely ceased to be a problem. So there was nothing stopping him from standing up and walking out the room now, was there?

“Finish up here and get your ass downstairs for dinner. You have ten minutes.”

Dean closed the bathroom door behind him and leaned against it as if his life depended on it. Funny how Dean didn’t feel as offended as maybe he ought to? Instead he felt almost… relieved. Like a huge burden of terrible earth-shattering secrets had just been lifted off his chest. If this was how it felt like to speak his mind then why in hell’s name did he not do it more often?  
  
“Deano!" John called out from downstairs, shaking him out of his thoughts. "Are we all packed for tomorrow morning?”  
  
Oh. Right. That’s why.  
  
“Almost, sir!”  
  
“Get to it.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
  
_***** _ ******_ _ ******_ _ ******_ _ ******_ _ ******_ _ ******_ _ ******_ _ ******_ _ ******_ _ ******_ _ ******_ _ ******_ _ ******_ _ ******_ _ ******_ _ ******_ _ *****_ _ *****_ _ ******_  **_  
  
_**Kindred, North Dakota.  
******Wednesday morning,**** **December 1998**_

 _ ** _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ ****_  
  
  
It hadn’t been the best state of mind to go on a hunt with.  
  
Sam wasn’t even looking at him, not that Dean blamed him after last night. One skill Dean considered himself seriously proficient at (besides being the ace pool shark, ace knife thrower and ace sawed-off maker that he was) it was keeping up appearances. He never let anyone, least of all his family, see the turbulence that broiled constantly just beneath the cool swagger.  
  
Least that’s what he’d believed until last night, before Sam had with one scrawny limb reached into his chest and ripped his heart right out.  
  
// You’re mad because that night made you realize… you  _are_  the whore. //  
  
Yep. Call it delayed response or whatever, Dean was so not a happy hunter right now.  
  
He was furious with Sam for putting him in this position in the first place. And he was pissed at himself because he’d fucked everything up so bad and now they were back at square one. The threat of Sam running away (leaving him behind, alone) loomed large once more.  
  
All of  _this_ , for nothing. He’d given in to indulging another one of Sam’s whims only to lead them both down a path neither could ever return unscathed from. Especially Sam. Damn it he was just a kid! What if he’d somehow abused or traumatized the boy in any way? How the hell was he ever going to fix that? And would he even get a chance if Sam left?  
  
If there was one thing the Winchesters knew for damn sure – it was that hell existed. Dean knew his father and Pastor Jim had collaborated on a couple of exorcisms even if he was yet to participate in one himself. Unless ‘sending its demon ass back to hell’ was just hunters’ jargon for ‘we don’t know where it went and we don’t know if it’ll be back but we’re calling it Miller time for now’…  
  
Nope. John Winchester never did develop any sense of humor about these things. Hell was real. And Dean was going to get to see it first hand.  
  
Vaguely he wondered if that’s where the Fritcheys were… the brother and sister who checked into the haunted inn pretending to be a married couple, doing what the ghost of Kindred inn thought was wrong.  
  
// Was it really? It’s not like they were hurting anybody. //  
  
For that matter, all the other couples had also been completely innocent. If at all, they should have been commended for being open-minded in an age that wasn’t exactly known for its tolerance or respect for human life.  
  
“Found them!”  
  
Sam called out, his still in the process of breaking voice jerking Dean out of his thoughts and he turned to look at the set of three graves Sam was standing beside. The Gregorys – father, mother and the unfortunate son, Benjamin. It was a nice bright day for a change, and Dean was really and truly thankful for his shades but it had nothing to do with the sun. Truth be told, he was terrified and glad he was able to cover it up. Not for himself, but for Sam.  
  
The pattern had been painfully clear to him since last evening… ever since his research uncovered the fact that the Fritcheys were related by blood. It completed the pattern so to speak because he’d now found something  _wrong_  with every single pair. None of these couples were meant to be. Least that’s what the ghost of Ruhi Gregory thought. Or maybe Benjamin Gregory. Or both.

Only one way to find out.  
  
“Alright, listen up. Here’s the plan,” John started and his boys gathered close around him, hovering just over the Gregory graves.  
  
John looked at his watch and reflexively Dean did the same. He noticed the slight but immediate sneer that appeared on Sam’s face at his copycat action. Guess even if little brother wasn’t directly looking at him, he clearly hadn’t stopped paying attention.  
  
Or maybe Dean was just that predictable. Whatever.  
  
“We have about four hours of daylight left. Plenty time to go in and figure out where the body’s buried, hopefully.”  
  
The ‘hopefully’ was ground out reluctantly, and Dean understood why. Even with their EMF meters, it may take them awhile to search every nook and corner of that sprawling mansion. Besides the detectors weren’t always completely reliable.  
  
“If by sundown we don’t find Ruhi’s remains, Dean you drive back here and get rid of our man Benjamin, just in case.”  
  
“Why do you want to desecrate his grave ‘just in case’?”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, of course Sam would protest. And bitch. And argue and  _not_  relent. John glared at his youngest son, but carried on as calmly as he could. “Do you want to wait for another couple to get killed in there just to be sure?”  
  
Sam pursed his lips, but before he could retort, John raised a hand. “Sammy you know there is no way for us to bait the ghost out. We don’t fit the pattern and this one’s clearly a self-righteous little piece of shit.”  
  
Dean snorted despite himself. And then he froze… because Sam’s gaze was now suddenly trained right  _at_  him. For the first time in what felt like decades.  
  
// You better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking, retard. //  
  
Dean quickly looked away and at his father. “Dad, maybe Sam should stay here, and I’ll give him my cell phone. By sundown if we’ve had no luck, we’ll let him know and he can start digging.”  
  
“No!” Sam practically yelled, taking the other two aback. “I mean… it’s a huge-ass place.”  
  
“Language, Sammy.” John interjected tiredly.  
  
“Sorry,” Sam then glared right at Dean, knowing what his big brother was up to. “Be faster for all three of us to search the place.”  
  
Much to Dean’s chagrin, John agreed with the little brat. “Sam has a point. Let’s not waste time, I want this job done and dusted tonight.”  
  
John started stalking off. Sam paused just long enough to smirk at his brother before turning to follow.  
  
// Oh no you don’t, little brother. Nobody’s playing bait, least of all you. //  
  
It wasn’t just ‘another day at work’ kinda hunt was it? If, God forbid, things spun out of control… there was only one thing worse than Sam getting hurt. And that was Sam getting hurt because of Dean. Why couldn’t Sam understand that?  
  
// Wait, did I just say ‘God forbid’? Whiskey Tango Foxtrot ?!? //  
  
“You’re not going. Period.”  
  
Sam was rendered speechless for all of three seconds and then just as Dean started walking off, he hit his whiny pitch again. “Didn’t you hear what Dad said, Dean? He wants this job done  _tonight_. And this is the best way to be sure! Once and for all!”  
  
“Sam…”  
  
The boy wasn’t listening, not even after he’d just told him about the nature of the Fritcheys’ relationship.  
  
“No, you listen to me, Dean! How can it be more dangerous than the other hunts we’ve been on? You watch my back and I’ll watch yours, we’ll be just fine.”  
  
Dean swallowed. This moment, this particular argument – it all felt so familiar, comfortable like it once used to be back when they were nothing but brothers. Found himself wishing they could go back to that time, a simpler time… when everything was the way it ought to have been. When Sam wasn’t lusting after Dean’s ass.  
  
// And Dean wasn’t lusting after Sam’s... //  
  
Dean shook his head. “We don’t need to risk it. I’m pretty sure it’s Ruhi up there in the mansion.”  
  
“But what if it’s Benjamin? What if she’s not buried there but…”  
  
“Sam! For  _once_  in your life, stop being such a selfish brat and do as you’re told!”  
  
Sam narrowed his eyes at him, lower lip jutting out ever so slightly and crossing his arms in that infamous time-honored tradition of petulant teenage boys about to pitch a fit.  
  
In the end, he only said two words. Two words that Dean could handle, do something about.  
  
“Make me,” Sam hissed.  
  
Dean smirked and put his shades back on again, “Okay.”

 

*********** ******* ******* *********

  
  
John was waiting at the door of his truck when his boys appeared round the bend exiting out of the cemetery gates.  
  
“What’s taking you both so long?” He threw out before looking at his sons carefully.  
  
Sam was limping. And Dean was supporting him from the side, one arm wrapped around Sam’s waist and the other holding one of Sam’s arms over his own shoulder as he led his little brother out to the cars.  
  
“Dean? What happened?”  
  
Dean glared at Sam one last time, hoping it would be warning enough before answering to his father. “Come on, Dad. What did you expect after three hundred pushups and dragging him around all day and also the fact that his knees never really healed from last week?”  
  
John frowned, “Sam?”  
  
The younger boy whined, “It’s his fault! He kick… oww!!”  
  
Dean bunched up as much flesh off Sam’s slender waist at the side (but out of sight for John) as he could with his blunt nails and Sam yelped with the sudden pain.  
  
“Cry-baby. We were  _training,_  Sammy, I was  _supposed_  to kick you. Dad, this is why I thought him staying here would be a good idea. He’s only going to slow us down. At least this way he’ll get to keep the weight off for a while, you know?”  
  
Sam struggled against his hold but Dean wasn’t letting go. If the contact was having any other unseen effects on Sam besides the obvious pain (Dean had in fact quite viciously kicked him in the shins not two minutes ago), he wasn’t showing any. But damn there was something about the way his little brother smelled, so fresh and sweet… Dean was sure it was just his imagination but there were times, like now, when he could swear he caught a whiff of the old talcum powder they used to use on Sammy back when he was a baby.  
  
// Get a grip, Dean. //  
  
John sighed, unlocking his truck. “We’re not going to leave your brother in this state alone here. Get in the car, both of you.”  
  
// Fuck no… //  
  
Sam was starting to smirk again.  
  
“He can stay put in the car and rest for a few, and you and I will go in scope the place out. It’s only a couple of minutes from here.”  
  
// Yes! Go, Dad! //  
  
Dean finished the smirk and dragged his little brother toward the Impala, with Sam still not in the mood to cooperate. Dean knew he’d just played his father’s guilt for his contribution to Sam’s current “condition” but surprisingly felt no guilt of his own.  
  
“Let me go, jackass!”  
  
Sam struggled against him vehemently, but he hadn’t learnt how to make use of that extra inch of height against Dean’s bulk of hard muscle and finely honed strength yet. Dean opened the passenger door and pushed Sam into the car before slamming it shut and walking over to the driver’s side, feeling his brother’s furious glare burning into him all the short way.  
  
Sam sulked as they drove, Dean obediently following John at a visible distance. But he knew the strained silence wouldn’t last long.  
  
“You know I’m right,” Sam ground out, still not looking at Dean while rubbing at his aching left knee with a hand.  
  
“No, you’re not.”  
  
Sam huffed as loud as he could, “There is only one way to end all of this for sure…”  
  
“And what’s that, Einstein?” Dean cut him out, more than pissed by now. “Letting the bitch hex me so I can fucking slash your throat?”  
  
The very thought made Dean feel like his heart was being scooped out with a spoon. But if Dean thought that would make an impression on Sam, and he’d hoped it would, well it didn’t.  
  
Sam just scowled back angrily. “There’d be three of us in there.”  
  
“Exactly, Sam. Three, including Dad! If with any luck we do make it out alive, how exactly do you plan to explain to Dad  _why_  we got attacked?”  
  
That was when Sam flinched, finally, just a little. Apparently the kid hadn’t really thought of that. Or maybe he had, and just didn’t care.  
  
Dean’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles hurt. His jaw was set in a rigid straight line and he couldn’t even bring himself to look at Sam. Even when he knew the kid was now turned fully toward him, peering into his face unabashedly.  
  
“How do you do that?”  
  
“What?” he ground out.  
  
“Keep your face blank, like everything’s fine. Like nothing’s freaking you out.”  
  
// Shit. Well clearly I’m not doing it so well right now, am I? //  
  
“Because nothing freaks me out.”  
  
Sam scoffed. “Right.”  
  
“I’m  _not freaked_ , you punk,” and he turned to Sam then, “because you’re not coming in. It’s a quick job, find, dig, salt and burn, easy as pie. We’ll be in and out of there in no time and you’re not fucking this up for us, Sammy, you hear me?”  
  
Sam huffed, and grumbled a quiet, “Fine. Whatever.”  
  
Then he shut up at last, looking out of his window and crossing his arms against his chest again. Great, sulking again. Well so long as he wasn’t fighting him anymore.  
  
Sometimes Dean wondered if Sam just liked to fight back for the  _sake_  of fighting back, you know? Maybe just to see how far he could push John and Dean, and where exactly their breaking point lay… beyond their usual propensities for screaming fits and way beyond the urge to throttle or possibly smother with a pillow, to the point at which they’d truly give up and just go – ‘do whatever you want’. Dean was pretty sure they hadn’t hit that mark yet, and they never would, not if he had any say in it.

Which didn’t mean Sam wouldn’t keep trying.  
  
“It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway.”  
  
Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes… and to  _ask_. He was not going to get provoked.

No, he was  _not_  curious.  
  
He sighed at last and turned to look at Sam. The boy still wouldn’t look at him, and when he spoke his voice was so small it brought the spoon plunging back into Dean’s heart.  
  
“Because it's not like anything’s going on. I mean, between us. Not really.”  
  
Dean gulped. Yeah, that… that was probably, right.  
  
// Yeah. Nothing’s going on. Not really. //

  
_**_*******_ _ *******_ *** _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_**_  
  
_**Kindred, North Dakota.  
**Wednesday evening,** December 1998**_  
  
_***** _ ***** _ *******_ _ *******_**_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_ _ *******_**_  
  
  
It was five PM and the sun was nearly down. John and Dean continued to search the insides of the haunted inn with their trusty homemade EMF detectors with absolutely no luck.  
  
Dean huffed when they reached the end of the fifth floor, the topmost floor of the mansion and leaned against a window.

“Dad,” he couldn’t help the whine in his voice.  
  
John briefly turned to him but didn't react, continued to run his own hands and detector around the perimeter of an air duct almost two feet above him in the wall.  
  
Dean frowned, a little miffed at being ignored, again. He turned to look out the window and down to where their vehicles were parked. He could still see Sam’s elbow and forearm sticking out of the Impala’s window and felt assured. So long as he was out there, safe… didn’t matter none if Dean himself died of freaking boredom in here.  
  
“You know,” John started, still frowning into the face of his EMF detector, “On every floor in every room, okay not every room, but in a lot of rooms, I get this very  _very_  faint reading right around the air ducts.”  
  
Dean came off the window and towards his father, happy to pursue this line of thought if it made Dad happy. “Okay. Air ducts, for central heating all running down to… the boiler room in the basement?”  
  
John shrugged. “It’s right next to the garage with that writing on the wall too. But when we were down there before, I didn’t get a very good reading there either.”  
  
He started rushing back down the stairs anyway and Dean followed, “It’s our best bet. Maybe her essence, over time, spread out through the massive network of pipes. Maybe that’s why the murders happened all over the place, in different rooms on different floors.”  
  
Dean halted mid-step, but only for half a second. “You think they dumped her body in the furnace, don’t you?”  
  
John did not reply.  
  
They’d broken the big padlocks to get inside the boiler room before. Going in was easy. It was the ‘what now’ part that presented a problem.  
  
“Dad, hate to state the obvious but if they burnt her already…”  
  
“Something’s keeping her here, Deano. We must find out what that is.”  
  
Dean could see the now familiar signs of slow-burning obsession taking over his Dad, transforming John Winchester the father, to John Winchester the hunter. The metamorphosis was always so absolute it would have Dean automatically switching from ‘Dad’ to ‘Sir’ without noticing it.  
  
After another few minutes of frantic racking of brains and running of their EMF meters across every surface of the room, Dean began to think if maybe Sam was right. Was it worth risking Sam’s life just to bait and kill a vengeful spirit? Dean grimaced, he couldn’t believe he was even actually considering the question.  
  
// But this is what we do, isn’t it? Risk our lives to kill the evil in the world, and didn’t we expect Sam to do the same? Get into the family business? //  
  
Why else would they always be on Sam’s case to train? To spend time practicing bow-hunting instead of soccer like he'd always wanted to? To pack up and move every couple of months, never staying in one place long enough to make friends?  
  
Or girlfriends? Or boyfriends?  
  
“Keep working here, I’ll go do the garage once more.”  
  
Dean was shoved back into reality by John’s parting instruction and he quickly rubbed his eyes, brushing away all thoughts of Sam from his mind, for now. This so was  _not_  the time to go there. Not now.  
  
**“You love him.”**  
  
Dean froze. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and something cold and damp crawled down the length of his spine. Slowly, cautiously, he turned… toward the source of the low, feminine cadence… not a voice, not really. Instead, just an echo, reverberating as if from a thousand miles away.  
  
She had long black hair, thick shiny curls falling all the way down to her hips. She wore white, and hell if that wasn’t the greatest supernatural cliché ever but then Dean looked at her closely. It wasn’t just any white dress. It was a vintage wedding gown.

In fact, the ghost could have easily been passed off for just another ethereally beautiful young bride… if it weren’t for the softly gaping slit right across her throat.  
  
“Ruhi?”  
  
A deep echo of a sigh, almost a gasp, as if the spirit hadn’t heard herself being called by that name for… what, nearly ninety years now?  
  
**“He loved me too, you know.”**  
  
The accent was deep, a strange mix of Mediterranean and old Western. This woman had been brought up in America, so Dean had no trouble understanding her. It was the vision that was disturbing the hell out of him. For one, this ghost didn’t look too keen on attacking him, at least not right then. Instead she seemed content to stand against the farthest wall with her hands behind her back, her neck craned as she stared up above at the ceiling, her eyes brimming with crystal clear tears.  
  
Dean couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her. But he wasn’t stupid. Casually pushed one arm behind himself, pulling the shotgun out from the waistband of his jeans. Held it right there, cocked and ready to fire if the bitch tried anything. But first he needed answers.  
  
“Who? Benjamin?”  
  
That was when she looked down, straight into his eyes.  
  
**“Benji.”** She smiled, the word rolling off her tongue with part lust and part wretchedness. It was the creepiest thing Dean had ever heard.  
  
He quickly looked away only to look back because taking his eyes off the enemy was so not smart. He wondered where John was, and how to keep the ghost engaged until he got back. Maybe figure out where her remains were and get rid of her once and for all.  
  
“What’s all the scribbling in blood about?”  
  
She moaned, low and guttural, almost as if it pained her to respond to the question, but she still did. **“Senin birleşmen haksız. Aşkın pis. Günahkar cezalandırılmalı.”**  
  
Poetic. That helped. “What does it mean?”  
  
She sighed again, **“Your union is wrong. Your love is impure. The guilty must be punished.”**  
  
// That’s direct. //  
  
“That why you keep killing off the women? You think their love is impure?”  
  
“…”  
  
“Was your love for Benji impure?”  
  
“…”  
  
“Is that why he killed you?”  
  
**“My Benji couldn’t hurt a soul.”**  
  
Dean frowned, confused, and just at that moment he heard John’s footsteps approaching the door to the boiler room. He had to warn him somehow, couldn’t have him putting himself in danger or spooking the ghost (Hah! That’s one for the memories) into attacking the still living men.  
  
“Woah woah,  _Ruhi_.” He gave ample stress to the name knowing John would hear him. “Let’s rewind, shall we? So you were murdered. Correct? Somebody gave you that little red choker round your neck and then dumped your body here in the furnace. And you’re saying it wasn’t Benjamin?”  
  
She calmly shook her head, making Dean vaguely ponder the merits of making that movement since there was a distinct possibility her head just might detach, and roll off her neck or something and he wasn’t looking forward to the sight, like at all.  
  
“Then who?”  
  
The ghost looked up at the ceiling again. Her eyes watered again. **“Benji was kind. Such a kind man.”**  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. Just his damn luck to be stuck with a vengeful spirit bitch in a nostalgic, sentimental mood. And what’s with women and stupid nicknames anyway? Like  _Benjamin Gregory_   wasn’t bad enough?  
  
**“He forgave them all, you know? For everything. For the war, for their home. For his brother, Taniel.”**  
  
“Did his parents kill you?”  
  
She smiled again, **“Probably wanted to. They lost a son after all.”**  
  
Dean was losing patience and fast. He could sense John standing right at the door, caught a glimpse of a sleeve of his leather jacket and quickly calculated how long it’d take for him to pull the trigger and if it’d be enough time to dash out the room. Then they could shut the door close on her and…  
  
**“Fingernails.”**  
  
// What? //  
  
**“That’s all they ever got back. A pile of ashes, and ten bloodied fingernails in a wooden box. Maple I think it was.”**  
  
“You mean… ?”  
  
// Oh. //  
  
// Fuck. //  
  
// Sonofabitch. //  
  
“Ruhi…” Dean sensed John stepping in closer to the door, armed and ready yet staying out of sight.  
  
“Where is it… do you know?  _Where is that box_?”  
  
She never did stop staring upwards, but now she looked scared. Her ashen lips trembled and the temperature in the room actually fell by a few degrees. Dean realized he was going to have to start running soon because this… yeah this was unsettling. And then she looked back down and at him and it got even more so.  
  
**“With my mother-in-law. I never got to know her.”**  
  
John stepped in closer, so he would be visible through the slightly ajar door to his son. Keeping the ghost in his peripheral vision, Dean caught John’s quick nod, then watched as his father calmly started to step backwards, the instruction plain and simple.  
  
Retreat. Get the hell out, as soon as possible. Except… Dean was his father’s son. And he needed to be sure.  
  
“Ruhi… why are you still here?”  
  
The ghost didn’t respond for the longest time, and Dean wondered if maybe she didn’t know the answer herself. Maybe if she could tell him exactly which body part of hers was stuck under which stone, maybe he could send her packing as well. Best to do a thorough cleanup because wasn’t that the first cardinal rule of hunting the supernatural? With time, they all just grow more bitter and angrier at being stuck at a dead end, pun totally intended. And then they turn vengeful.  
  
He guessed John must be out the main door by now and quietly heaved a sigh of relief. Waited for the ghost to respond.  
  
**“Sometimes I can save them. Sometimes, he doesn’t win.”**  
  
Dean flashed back to Sam’s arguments earlier that day.  
  
// I just find it hard to believe no other gay couple stayed at the inn in the fifty years before them. //  
  
// The ghost is killing off the women from every couple it thinks is not meant to be together. I’d have thought there’d be more such instances, why just these few couples? //  
  
Guess the little boy wonder was on the ball, again. But Dean still couldn’t completely believe it, a spirit that chose to stick around to save people? Not that he trusted her because, hello - ghost? But admittedly he was intrigued.  
  
// Intrigued my ass! Leave now moron, before  _Casper_  comes out to play. //  
  
“Ruhi… I’m going to go away now, leave you in peace. Okay?”  
  
An echoing snivel reached Dean’s ears making him pause. **“It wasn’t his fault.”**  
  
Just like it really wasn’t the men’s fault… each one of them who killed their wives or girlfriends or partners. It was the ghost of Taniel from the start, brought back from across the seas to this place. He made Benjamin kill his own bride in her sleep. And the next morning the family couldn’t explain it, couldn’t understand what had happened. So they threw her body in the furnace and spread the rumor that she ran away with a gardener who’d very recently left their employment.  
  
“I know. I also know Benji never stopped loving you, he couldn’t live with the guilt of what he thought he’d done. If you… if you just let me leave, I can end this. You can be free from this place and… and you can go be with Benji forever.”  
  
Dean had absolutely no idea what would happen, where she’d go and he doubted very much she’d see her husband again – because all that heaven bullshit was just that – bullshit. But right then he was willing to promise her anything so long as he was able to walk out of there quietly.

He really, really did not want to shoot her.  
  
**“You lie beautifully.”**  
  
Dean swallowed hard, getting ready to run.  
  
**“Go, while you still can.”**  
  
He didn't need to be told twice and started to back off towards the door.  
  
Suddenly, there was a loud crashing noise from the floor above, followed by another. And another, and it took a couple seconds for Dean to realize what was happening. All doors and windows were being slammed shut almost at once, as if by some supernatural force.

The haunted mansion was locking itself down, around Dean.  
  
Too late, Dean took a deep breath and straightened up, taking his shotgun out at last. “Why is he doing this?”  
  
He looked at Ruhi only to find her just as terrified and stunned as him. And she was looking back up at the dark ceiling again.  
  
**“You tell me,”** she whispered. And that was all she said.  
  
Dean glanced up just in time to see a monstrous swirling cloud of thick black smoke descend from the crest of the ceiling… heading straight at him.  
  
Then a brute force was slamming down into his chest, throwing him up against the wall behind. The pain rose like a crescendo from the very base of his spine, and Dean screamed, maybe. Maybe he didn’t, couldn’t be sure. Mercifully he somehow hit his head, and the world and its contents blacked out.  
  
  
***** ******* ******* ******* ******* ******* ******* ******* *********

  
Minutes or maybe days later, who the fuck knew, Dean woke up to a slender silhouette leaning over him. He felt two hands resting squarely on his chest frantically shaking the very life out of him, and a voice, still in the process of breaking, screaming his eardrums out.  
  
“Dean, c’mon! Wake up!! Please… wake up!”  
  
Sammy. It was Sammy.

The relief he felt was perilously short-lived because damn it Sam wasn’t supposed to be in here. This must be why the ghost of Taniel had woken up and…  
  
Dean’s eyes snapped open, almost as if on their own accord.  
  
Sam exhaled heavily, “Oh, thank God. We gotta get out of here man. There’s gotta be a door or window we can break. Come on.”  
  
The boy with a quick nod gestured towards his right and Dean’s eyes shifted to follow his line of sight, once again entirely on their own. Ruhi still stood where he’d found her before, leaning against the farthest wall with her hands behind her back. This time though, she wasn’t staring up at the ceiling.  
  
Instead, her black eyes were boring right into  _him_.  
  
A part of him protested the way Sam kept heartlessly tugging at his arms to make him stand up because damn it his head hurt. And yet another part, a bigger part… the one in evident control, operated almost mechanically, independently. One moment he was supine on the slimy boiler room floor, next – he stood on his feet, steady and quick as lightning, his spine buck straight as he looked down at an equally surprised Sam still kneeling on the floor.  
  
Sam frowned up at him. “Dean? You okay?”  
  
// Run. Sammy. //  
  
But the words wouldn’t come, his voice refused to oblige. Instead Dean Winchester watched helplessly as his body, now possessed by the ghost of a brutalized and murdered Taniel Gregory, pulled itself together, drew the shotgun out from behind his back and shot at his brother.  
  
Sam screamed.  
  
Somewhere deep inside Dean screamed as well, but nobody heard him.  
  
When the shallow cloud of rocksalt smoke cleared, he discovered that Sam had ducked just in the nick of time and was unhurt. Dean got no time to process the tiny relief before his arm stretched out and pulled the trigger again.  
  
Sam ran towards the door but it was locked, turned just in time to evade the second buckshot hurtling towards him and fell to the floor instead.  
  
“Dean, stop it! You have to control it!”  
  
But Taniel Gregory could not be stopped. Deprived of his usual weapon - a razor knife, and with no more bullets to shoot, he charged towards the boy fully intending to rip his throat out with his bare hands. Or Dean’s bare hands in this case.  
  
“No…” Sam stood up and defended himself as valiantly as he could, but Dean could sense him still holding back. Damn it he was not fighting back just as he wasn’t fighting back the night before. What the fuck was wrong with him?  
  
“Dean, get a grip…”  
  
// Hit me, Sam! Don’t let him kill you. Don’t let  _me_  kill you, please… //  
  
Dean twisted his brother around just like before, trapping him in a vice-like stranglehold but  _unlike_  last night, today he was squeezing with all his strength.  
  
“Dean… don’t… pl…”  
  
His lips moved, he spoke and it wasn’t his words that came out.  
  
**“Senin birleşmen haksız. Aşkın pis. Günahkar cezalandırılmalı.”**  
  
It seemed to have exactly the opposite effect that the ghost was probably intending. Instead of giving up the fight, Dean felt his brother’s frame tense up against him.  
  
// Yes! //  
  
The bony elbow drove right into his ribs just like the night before, knocking the very wind out of him and Dean had never been prouder of his brother’s fighting abilities. Sam didn’t stop there, turned around and drove his injured right knee square into Dean’s stomach. Dean was bent over in half, flying almost a feet into the air and Sam continued to pummel into him with desperate punches and kicks before he could even hit the ground.  
  
**“Senin birleşmen haksız. Senin birleşmen haksız!”**  
  
“Fuck you!!” Sam socked him in the face. “My love is  _not_  impure!!!” And again.  
  
Dean wasn’t surprised in the least that Sam knew what the words meant. He must have cracked it sometime during his own research.  
  
“I love my brother unconditionally, and you know what, he loves me back and that is _not fucking wrong_!”  
  
Dean hit him back and Sam stumbled two feet back.  
  
**“Senin... birleşmen... haksız!”**  
  
The ghost was getting more and more violent and Dean’s feeble hold that had so far allowed him to resist hitting Sam back, was crumbling and fast. But the words… the words seemed to be propelling Sam almost as much as they did Taniel.  
  
“Quit whining, sonofabitch!”  
  
Dean took another hit to the jaw and clearly saw stars. And that’s when he noticed the near madness in his brother’s eyes, like a dam had broken loose, flooding his face and usually docile demeanor with weeks of pain and rage and all that rabid teenaged angst.  
  
“I’m so sick of you telling me what’s right and what’s wrong. I can decide for myself, thank you very much!”  
  
Dean wasn’t sure who Sam was talking to, or kicking the shit out of anymore.  
  
“To make someone happy is not wrong. To stick by them no matter what… to love and protect them over everyone else is  _never! Fucking! Wrong_!!”  
  
With every bitter, tear-soaked word that left Sam’s mouth, Dean could feel the ghost’s sinister grip slipping. The last punch caught him in the right eye and he was spun, twisting a full one-eighty degrees before Dean collapsed painfully to the floor.  
  
He lay there, unmoving, uncaring… wishing he could stay there in this momentary reprieve from the pain forever. He looked at his right hand lying just in his line of sight on the floor and tried to wiggle his fingers.  
  
It worked.  
  
“Dean?”  
  
Dean coughed spitting out blood, and suddenly Sam was at his side again. He tried to turn his big brother over but Dean groaned.  
  
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”  
  
Dean tried to chuckle, and turned his face up of his own accord, glad to see he could do it at last.  
  
“Sammy…” he whispered, his voice hoarse, disgusted by the sensation of the Armenian ghost’s bitter essence at the back of his throat. “Did you mean all the things you just said?”  
  
Sam was crying, his face wet with tears and he was struggling to hold the snot at bay. “Every word.”  
  
Dean smiled. “Good. Then you gotta listen to me, kiddo. Leave. Leave now while the doors are still open.”  
  
Sam was horrified. “No! There’s no telling what he’d do to you! You have to come with me.”  
  
He tried to haul Dean up to a sitting position but Dean didn’t wanna, hell it hurt way too much to move. “No!! Sam listen. He’s still in here, and he’s coming back. Any minute now, I’m gonna lose control again. You have to leave Sammy. Go help Dad. It’s the only way.”  
  
The younger boy started to cry in earnest, and Dean’s heart broke. All he wanted to do was take his little brother in his arms and rock him until the pain went away but he couldn’t. Not yet.  
  
And maybe… not ever.  
  
“You have to do this, for me. I’ll never ask for anything again, Sammy. Please… please leave. Please…”  
  
“No… I don’t want to leave you alone…”  
  
The blackness started to descend and Dean’s entire body went stiff like he was paralyzed. He braced himself and though he couldn’t speak anymore, his eyes kept imploring.  
  
// Go. Go now. Sam! Go!!! //  
  
Sam stood then, and ran, slamming through the boiler room door and swinging it wide open behind him as he continued to run. Dean’s eyes tracked him for as long as they could… that is until the ghost took over completely and then it was Taniel doing the tracking.

His body stood up and broke into a run intent on chasing its prey down. But before the entity could reach out to shut all doors of escape again, Sam flung himself out the main gate and sailed through, free, to the other side.

Dean smirked on the inside.  
  
**“Günahkar cezalandırılmalı.”**  
  
// Yeah yeah. Get on with it. //  
  
And he continued to smile, even as the ghost of Taniel drove Dean’s balled fist right through a glass window, shattering it to pieces.  
  
The last thing Dean remembered was his hand reaching out for the largest shard of glass on the floor and holding it up, poised at the point of his own jugular… ready to slash his own throat.

 

*********************************

**_(tbc)_ **

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is a continuation of Dean’s POV and the long introspection party. Additional notes at the end as well. Sorry if it feels like an anticlimax to the nasty “cliffhanger”, which really wasn’t supposed to be one anyway since… if you remember, chapter 14 actually started with Dean starting to spill the beans to John on Thursday evening. And all the rest of the events in that chapter happened before that. Yay for non-linear time narration, no?

_**Fargo, North Dakota.** _  
_**Thursday morning, December 1998** _

****************************************

Dean opened his eyes, panicked for an instant when he couldn’t open both.

“Hey… hey it’s okay. You’re okay.”

He didn’t realize he’d jerked up near violently from what was… not the slimy boiler room floor but… his own bed.

// Ah, bed! Sweet, solid bed. //

Dean closed his eyes again, now exhausted beyond belief because, damn, deep, intense relief can do that to you.

But then in the very next split-second he remembered, and his one good eye shot open again.

“Sammy? You okay?”

The fifteen year old looked slightly worse for the wear, not because of the fight with Dean because honestly he wasn’t the one who took the bulk of the beating. But mostly he just looked… tired, and wary. His eyes were bloodshot with who knew how many hours of not-crying, the tip of his nose brighter than the rest of his face that was a ghostly shade of white. He looked absolutely wrung out.

Dean reached a hand out, secretly celebrating the fact that he finally _could_ , and touched the slender (though somehow still baby fat-laden) cheek closest to him. Sam smiled so very sadly and nodded, holding Dean’s hand against his face with his own. Dean felt a happy warmth spread inside his aching chest when his little brother nuzzled into the calloused, open palm of his hand.

“So..." he cleared his throat, "remind me again what happened?”

Sam sniffed his tears back. "What do you remember?"

Dean tried to take himself back to last night at the haunted mansion. He recalled seeing Sam make it through the doors to safety, and then himself driving his now bandaged right fist through a glass window and picking up a shard of glass and…

Oh. Fuck. Sam didn’t need to know that minor detail, and for that matter neither did Dad.

“The doors slammed down soon as you got clear, and…”

“I’m so sorry, Dean. I never should have left you, actually I never should have come in and this wouldn’t have… God. I’m so, so sorry.”

Dean swallowed dryly. While what happened _after_ was still a blur, the memory of all the events before they entered the mansion was crystal clear in all its gory detail. Sam had disregarded everything Dean said and sauntered into the haunted mansion anyway. But then it wasn’t just Sam's fault either, was it? If only Dean had left with John while he had the chance…

His mistake nearly got Sam killed, this time both figuratively and literally by Dean’s own hands.

“It was my fault, Sammy.”

Sam frowned, clearly not understanding, but Dean just shook his head, not in the mood to talk just yet. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“So am I,” Dad’s deep voice floated over to the boys from his spot by the bedroom door.

John dug his hands into his jeans pockets and walked over to the bed. Dean winced but sat up in bed, ignoring all efforts Sam made to push him back down. He noticed his brother had gone uncannily quiet and withdrawn the moment Dad entered the room.

“That was one hell of a job, wasn’t it, son?”

“Yes, Sir.” Dean intoned, still worried at the way Sam was flinching away from their voices.

“Why do you think the ghost attacked you, anyway?”

Shit.

Dean wished he’d had some time to think of a foolproof story, but now he was just going to have to wing it. He tried to shrug, except it hurt too much so stopped.

“Same reason Ruhi decided to start chatting with me? Taniel must have figured out we were onto him, what with Ruhi helping us out. Obviously didn’t want his ass carted back to hell, I guess...”

John bit his lip and nodded, seemingly convinced by the explanation. After all everything about this case had been peculiar from the start. So why should the end be any different?

Dean, meanwhile, continued to keep on eye on his little brother. Something was not right. Finally, he just had to ask, and he didn't care that John was still right there. “What’s going on with you, Sammy?”

Sam started and looked away, but Dean trapped his hand under his own on the bed before he could withdraw completely.

“He’s grounded," John answered for him instead. "Indefinitely. And we’re going back to the extra hundred pushups a day, every day. For two months.”

“What?!? Why?”

Sam flinched again even though he knew Dean wasn't yelling at him. He got that panicked, longing look in his eyes like he'd clearly rather be anywhere but here. But this time Dean had no intentions of letting him go.

John grunted, “When you didn’t come out after me, I asked Sam to go in and cover you while I high-tailed it to torch Magdalene Gregory’s grave.”

// What? Damn it, Dad!! //

"There was no time to waste, Deano. You should have known that."

"I-I did know, I was... counting on you to take care of things while I-I stalled them. Or something..."

John sighed again, not entirely convinced but willing to concede. But then suddenly he turned to look at Sam and his voice got angry again.

“I told him you could be in danger. And yet I come back to find him standing at the very spot I left him at. Now I’m pretty sure there’s a good explanation in there somewhere. But Sammy here doesn’t think I need to know it. Dean, ask your brother why he disobeyed another direct order. _Again_.”

Dean exhaled heavily, shaking his head at the huge mess of things they’d made. No wonder the kid was so broken up. He’d followed the order, having been led to believe Dean needed his help. Instead, that was precisely what had caused Taniel to attack in the first place. And as if Sam didn’t beat himself up enough as it is, this stupid, grossly undeserved punishment on top of it all was making things worse.

Times like these, Dean wondered why he ever put up with his father at all.

“Everything happened so fast after you left. Taniel locked the place down, watertight. All doors and all windows, jammed shut. I couldn’t get out and Sam couldn’t get in and I know he tried, I heard him! Sammy, why didn’t you tell Dad you tried?”

Sam just swallowed heavily, still unable to meet anyone else’s eyes in the room. He succeeded at last in wrenching his hand out of Dean’s and crossed himself, unsure of what to do.

John frowned even harder than before, harder than Dean thought possible. “Sam? Is that true?”

// Say it’s true. Just say it, kiddo. //

The younger son glanced up at Dean before looking at John, only to then quickly look away. Through bright, brimming eyes his silence was considered his acquiescence.

John sighed. “Oh Sammy, come here boy.”

He had to pull his youngest son towards him because Sam was just stubborn that way. A long, awkward hug followed in which Sam held himself stiff and unresponsive, and John had to give up eventually.

“Alright, punishment revoked. Go on, get your butt to school now.”

Dean winced, already knowing what was coming. Sam looked up into John’s face, his mouth wide open with shock.

“You want me to go to school _now_?”

Today? Of all days? When all Sam wanted was to be close to Dean, hover around his big brother for no other reason but to assure himself that Dean was here. _Still_ here.

Dean shook his head though almost imperceptibly. John Winchester really couldn’t do anything right with his youngest son, could he?

“Dean’s okay, Sammy. No need to disrupt your schedule. Go on, get ready.”

Before Sam could erupt, and Dean knew he was about to because he was just about starting to square his shoulders, Dean interrupted. “Go ahead, Sam.”

// Go. Don’t fight, please. Not now. //

Dean regretted his decision the moment he looked up. The look on Sam’s face could only be described as stricken, almost as if he’d been slapped and thrown out of the house for good. Sure, Sam could be melodramatic when he wanted to, but this time he seemed genuinely… hurt.

They didn’t stop Sam as he grabbed his stuff and not so quietly stalked out of the house. John sighed, looking down at Dean completely flustered. “I thought that’s what he wanted? To go to school?”

Dean bit his lip, exhausted and not ready to rehash this age-old discussion about the joys of parenting one Sam Winchester right then. “It’s okay. He can probably use the distraction.”

John nodded, as if Dean’s approval was what he was looking for to begin with. Dean got out of bed then. His joints still felt stiff and the side of his neck stung a bit where he’d pricked himself with the shard of glass, the memory of which sent a cold shudder down his spine.

“Dad? How long did it take you to get to the cemetery, find the box and burn it?”

John squinted his eyes, thinking. The graveyard was barely three minutes away and John could be a really driven digger when he needed to be. “An hour, maybe, give or take?”

An hour. And Sammy managed to hold a Taniel-possessed Dean off for at least three quarters of that time, until he couldn’t anymore. Good thing John torched the bastard in the nick of time.

// Sure could do with less fucking nicks of times in our lives. //

He wondered what happened to Ruhi’s spirit, if she was able to find peace at last. He wondered if maybe she had something to do with the fact that he was still here…

John’s next words pulled him back to the present. “You have to talk to him, Deano. He’s been acting so immature lately, you just can’t reason with him anymore and…”

“Maybe you should lay off him a bit, Dad. He’s only fifteen. What’s so wrong with him being a kid, for a change?”

The words escaped his mouth before Dean realized what he was doing. Did he just talk back to the mighty John Winchester? He swallowed, cautiously turning to face his Dad. John looked just as stunned apparently, but the retaliation came back fast and strong.

“Fifteen is not an age to be a kid anymore. Not in this family and you should know that of all people. He _is_ growing up, Dean. Maybe you should ask yourself if you’re the one holding him back?”

Dean froze.

// How dare you? You… who’s never around. Who never fixed a scraped knee, never went to any of his spelling bees or soccer games… how dare _you_? //

There must have been something disturbingly alarming in Dean’s face because John seemed on the verge of physically taking a step back. But he didn’t, and instead drew a long, calming breath.

“All I’m saying is, Sam is smart. Smarter than a lot of fifteen-year olds out there. Heck, sometimes I think he may be smarter than you and me and _my_ old man put together. Like it or not, Dean… he’s not a kid anymore. He shouldn’t be treated like one, and he sure as hell shouldn’t be allowed to act like one.”

Dean turned away, even though he suspected the treacherous heaving of his shoulders would give away his true emotions to his Dad.

Was that really true?

He never did take Sam’s constant whining - ‘being sixteen not fifteen’ or ‘don’t call me Sammy’ too seriously. Was Dean really the one refusing to see the truth? He started out a really young recruit in his father’s quest for vengeance, but he did it of his own free will. Yet… was it possible Dean was trying to live out his own childhood, the one he missed out on, through Sam? And that maybe in doing so, he’d ended up treating Sammy like a kid longer than necessary?

Come to think about it, who was Dean to talk about 'free will' - what would he know about it anyway? One could argue it was the thing that killed mom that made Dean's choices for him, or maybe it was John's obsession for revenge that never gave Dean the luxury to even consider anything else. And yet, despite knowing it all, knowing the pattern was being repeated all over again for Sammy, how had Dean also joined the ranks of all those people and things that were taking Sammy's choices away from him?

John walked up behind him, kept a warm hand on his left shoulder and softly squeezed. “You can’t keep covering for him, Dean. You can’t make his decisions for him forever.”

Without waiting for a response, and Dean was glad for it, John walked out his room promising to be back with coffee and bagels. Dean quickly realized he wasn’t going to be able to relax. His thoughts in constant turmoil, his body aching from the lactic acid accumulation…

He got dressed in a hurry, popped a couple of painkillers then went to work.

 

_*************************************_

_**Fargo, North Dakota.  
** _ _**Thursday noon, December 1998** _

_************************************* _

 

“Mr. Winchester!”  
  
Dean poked his head out from under the hood of a '69 Camaro, and smiled at his boss as he ambled over. “Yeah, boss?”

Carlos Mondavi was a forty-year old, big man, dimensionally speaking – he stood about a half-foot taller than Dean and at least thrice as wide if not more. He was loud, crass and frequently foulmouthed, but he always did right by his customers and staff. All things considered Dean quite liked the guy, even if he’d only known him for two weeks.  
  
Mondavi held out his hand and Dean took it, preparing himself for the bone-crushing grip he’d become more than familiar with by now. But the old man went gentle on him this time, maybe because of all the bruises and cuts he could see on Dean’s face.

“You know I don’t care what you kids do on your own time. But I have big plans for you, Dean. If you just keep that fine face of yours from getting flattened every week, I might have a salesman’s position for you up front. What do you say?”  
  
Dean laughed, “Well, I ain’t no salesman. Besides I enjoy working on your beauties here in the back. Wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“See that’s the kind of sweet-talk I could use in the showroom. And the best part is you actually mean it! Trust me kid, I know a salesman when I see one. Let me know if you change your mind?”  
  
“I will.”

Mondavi seemed pleased enough. “Good boy. Close up by two and go home okay; they're predicting one hell of a snowstorm today.”

Then he got into his pickup and drove off, done for the day. Dean was still grinning when he dove back under the hood - coming to work had definitely been a good idea. Gave him the reprieve he needed to feel productive for a change (not helpless), and not think about all his Sammy-troubles at home.

That’s when Falco, the twenty-something high school dropout with a blond mullet and bad breath walked up to him, looking around surreptitiously. He and Dean were supposed to be the only two guys working in the body shop today.

“Hey Dean… I’m gonna take off, okay? You good to cover for me here?”

Dean smirked. It wasn’t even noon yet, but then it wasn’t the first time he'd be doing this for Falco. “So what is it this time?”

The other mechanic winked. “Well, the boss isn’t the only one with a hot date lined up for the weekend.”

Dean frowned. He knew the boss was happily married with a wife and two kids, and they were all off visiting relatives out of state. So then what Falco said could only mean… he sighed and tried to get back to work. He didn’t want to be the one gossiping behind the boss’ back. Falco on the other hand had no such qualms. He leaned against the car Dean was working on and carried on like he'd nowhere to be.

“Let’s just say Carlos isn’t exactly as careful he thinks he is. I know for a fact that every time the missus leaves town to see her mother, he rents a pretty little thing for a couple days from the Russian.”

Dean frowned. He’d heard about the Russian before, a local pimp went by that name round these parts. “You mean, like, a hooker?”

“The _same_ hooker, every time. Stick around long enough and you might yet get a glimpse of the little… _minx_. Right here, in his glass office up there. Probably feels too guilty doing the dirty in the family home.”

Falco sniggered like he knew something else he wasn't telling. But Dean decided not to dwell on it, promised to cover for him (again) and sent the man on his way. He decided to get done with Falco’s boring stuff (a couple of Hondas, a Subaru) first then focus on the Camaro after. Working in this garage relaxed like him nothing else could. The high that came from being pretty damn good at something (besides hunting, of course) mixed with the gratification you get when you fix something and it works again, was exactly what Dean needed to lose himself in right about then.

He also lost track of time in the process.

Sometime after three, Dean glanced sideways from his spot under the Camaro, at Carlos climbing up the stairs to his office. And he wasn’t alone.

A slender and kind of hot young guy was following him. He looked to be in his twenties, definitely older than Dean. His hands rested on Carlos’ broad shoulders and he was leaning forward, whispering something in the older man’s ear that made them both giggle like children. Dean’s eyes widened – not because Carlos’ hooker was a guy, but because Dean recognized the East Indian handicraft scarf wrapped around that man’s neck, before he remembered the face.

 _Standing on the wrong side of the road_ … that’s how Sam had described Drew.

A prostitute.

Sam brought home a prostitute.

Sam brought home a prostitute?!?!

Dean felt blood rushing up to his ears and his pulse raced with what he could only describe as uncontrollable rage. He needed to get out of here; he needed to go find Sam, yank the little brat out of class if needed, and strangle the bejesus out of him.

The other two men carried on PDAing all the way up to the office. They couldn’t have spotted Dean from the distance, what with him still supine under the Camaro. Or so he told himself. Ten minutes later, having hurriedly cleaned up and shrugged his jacket on, Dean was about to quietly slip out the back when someone cleared their throat loudly behind him, announcing themselves.

“Fuck!” Dean started and cursed under his breath.

“No need for profanities, man. I just want to talk.”

Drew waited patiently for Dean to turn himself around. The hunter narrowed his eyes at the prostitute, folding his arms and waiting for whatever barrage of crap Drew wished to share with him tonight.

Drew chuckled but sounded nervous. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you like that.”

But Dean was still pissed and he couldn’t help himself. “How’s business?”

Drew’s eyes hardened, but he kept a straight face. “Look I just… I wanted to let you know that I really, really did not know your… your _brother_ was only… you know.”

Dean raised a condescending eyebrow, “Fifteen?”  
  
Drew huffed, like he’d had enough of Dean’s attitude. “Yeah well, I didn’t know. What’s _your_ excuse?”  
  
“…”

For the second time that night, Dean felt like he’d been sucker punched in the rib cage, hard. Somehow, Drew knew something about the two brothers that he shouldn’t… he couldn’t.

“I saw you two at the library.”  
  
// Oh, right. // Dean remembered the little game of footsie, Sam’s mischief-filled eyes and mile-wide smile that had suddenly melted away at the sight of something in the shadows – that was Drew.  
  
“Yeah, we saw you too. Little tip: spying? So not your calling.”  
  
“I wasn’t there to spy on you on purpose. I read too, you know.”  
  
“So what do you want from me now?”  
  
Drew looked nervous again. “Look, about me and Carlos,” he bit his lip. “I just wanna make sure you won’t rat on him, like to his wife or whatever. It'd break him if he lost his family.”  
  
“Why would you think I’d tell on my own boss?”  
  
Drew shrugged, “Falco doesn’t care, probably loves Carlos too much for keeping his incompetent ass in employment. But _you_ … you hate me. You think I did something bad with your little brother or… whatever the hell he is to you.”

Dean swallowed hard at that, but let Drew continue.

“You won’t believe the lengths people have gone to, to hurt me. I’m just… hedging my risks so to speak.”

Dean stayed silent and kept his face blank, even though he knew exactly what Drew meant.

Drew fidgeted again nervously and crossed his arms, “You tell, I tell, okay?” and then winced visibly, like he was fully expecting Dean to grab him by the collars or pummel his face or something.

Suddenly Dean sighed, all his anger leeching out at the sight of a hooker, trying so badly to blackmail him only to, what – keep his boss’ family life safe?

Dean stepped closer to Drew, tentatively. “Alright, first of all – I have nothing against you. Whatever happened, it’s in the past as far as I’m concerned. And if you're the hooker then it was probably my brother's fault anyway so... I'm not mad at you, okay? Not that I approve of what you do…”

“I don’t give a flying fuck for your approval.”  
  
“Oh-kay…”  
  
“I’m not passing any judgments on you and your brother, am I?”  
  
“Shut up about my brother.”  
  
Drew bit his lip, more than a little intimidated by the sudden coldness in Dean’s voice. “Look… guys like me from the wrong side of town… we got nothing to lose. All this moral and ethical crap your church throws at you… I don’t really care.”  
  
// My church. Yeah, that’d be the day. //  
  
“But Carlos cares.”  
  
“And you care that he cares?”  
  
Drew looked up at him, hesitant and more than a little wary. “Carlos is not just another customer. He looks after me now. He’s even promised to pay my college tuition if I can maintain an above average GPA.”  
  
Dean blinked. “You're in college?”  
  
Drew waved it off like it was nothing. “We're not hurting anybody so long as nobody finds out. I make him happy, and… he makes me feel safe, okay? The only thing that would make this wrong is if he had to lose his family because of me. So please, just…”  
  
“Stop! Just stop, Drew.” Dean stepped in closer to the man, prompting him to have to look up in order to gaze into Dean’s eyes. “Trust me. I know what you mean. It’s okay, man. More importantly, it's none of my business.”  
  
The silence stretched into a minute, but Dean let Drew take his time to assure himself. At last, he breathed out and nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”  
  
Dean flashed his trademark smirk at him then, and Drew responded in kind before Dean turned and started to walk away.  
  
“You love him, don’t you?”  
  
// Fuck, is this guy clairvoyant or something? Should I be hunting him? //  
  
This would make three – three times this guy had almost given Dean cardiac arrest in one night. If a woman dead for ninety years and a part college student part male hooker could see it, then who the hell else could?

Dean grimaced and shrugged a bit, but didn’t respond. Drew let loose a soft chuckle. “Sorry it’s just that, dude, when you’re with him…? You should see your **face.”**

 

*********************

 

Dean got into his car and started driving, Led Zeppelin blaring all the way. In no mood to return to the house, he just drove around aimlessly until he reached the farthest pier this side of the majestic Red River. Rolled his baby out as close to the water as she could go without fear of rust, killed the engine and leaned back in his seat. Waited.

For what? He wasn’t quite sure yet.

It’d been one hell of a couple of days. Hell, a month. The first storm of the season was about to hit, and soon all the grays and browns would be covered up with pure white flakes of snow. Winter was always an exciting time for Dean, hunting wise. Apparently it had something to do with the lack of sunlight, depressing for the living but party time for the undead. And then before they’d know it, spring would creep up on them, thawing all the ice out, transforming the scenery from grim white to fresh green again.

Not that Dean noticed such things himself, of course not! But Sam did. Sam loved watching leaves change colors through the year, geek extraordinaire that he was. Last year when they were in New England during the fall, Sam was literally in heaven, sticking his head out of the Impala’s window all the way like an overgrown terrier. Said it was the one thing in nature he could relate to. Something about new beginnings, every time they moved… funny how Dean knew and remembered all these little things about his little brother…

// You love him. //

Dean sighed. Of course he did. Was there ever a doubt?

// And not just in a brotherly way. //

Dean closed his eyes. Did he really think he could deny it forever? Lock it up in a box and bury it somewhere deep inside, so deep he couldn’t find it even if he tried?

// Well you thought wrong, smartass. //

Girls were always throwing themselves all over Dean, and he’d be flattered, hell _more_ than interested in what was so freely offered (duh). And he’d also had his fair share of guys crushing on him. He’d taken it all with more than a few grains of salt and never let it go to his head, or any organ above his waistline for that matter. But then one night, he’d heard Sam moaning his name in his sleep. He’d watched Sam climax in the dark to thoughts of… of Dean, and it had shaken him up to the core of his very being. And then Sam had kissed him. And his whole world was thrown for a loop.

Sam had kissed him, on the lips. And it made Dean realize what he’d known for years but hadn’t really, truly grasped the significance of, until now… Sam was the only one in this world who’d ever managed to touch Dean’s heart. Course it didn’t help matters any that the little brat had grown up to be _fucking gorgeous_.

Like they say, the devil is in the details. And Sam was beautiful in every miniscule detail possible. Dean hadn’t seen his brother sans all his clothes for four years (last time was when Sam was eleven and had the measles), until very recently when Sam had been bold enough to step into the shower next to him. If there’d ever been heaven and hell together in one place, it was there in that bathroom, under _that_ shower where Sam stood naked, his back stuck squarely to Dean’s front. His entire weight, so trustingly, leaned against Dean to bear and support.

And despite his best intentions, despite that nagging little voice in his head that kept screaming ‘pedo’ and ‘perv’ along with a few other choice adjectives, Dean absolutely could not get his eyes off his not-so-little brother. The soft curls resting delicately at the base of his slender neck mesmerized him, hair like silk between Dean’s fingers. The deep grooves of his pelvic joints accentuated the flatness of his belly, the early signs of a developing six-pack and the tempting little navel just practically begged to be licked, and rimmed clean. The dusky little nubs on his chest, so sensitive to the touch, the sounds Sam made with his mouth wide open as he came… his magnificently pink shaft first growing heavier and then lighter, held snug within Dean’s soap-slick grip…

“God damn it, Sammy…”

Dean winced his eyes shut and groaned, one hand reflexively moving down to his own rousing erection. Just the memory of that day was enough to set all his senses on fire. He couldn’t deny it any longer… brothers don’t just jump head first into gay incestuous relationships just to keep a friggin’ family together. They just _don’t_.

Even now, while the need to protect Sam was stronger than ever, there was nothing Dean wanted more than to be in heaven and hell at once. With Sam.

// Then why don’t you? //

Dean gripped the steering wheel with his left hand, tight, his right hand suddenly not too keen to jack himself off any more. Why, if this was how his body reacted to the mere thoughts of being with Sam, why then did he keep putting Sam down, telling him he was just a kid who didn’t know what he wanted? Maybe because it was easier to blame Sam and his alleged ‘immaturity’ rather than face his own true feelings, and admit that he wanted this as much as Sam did. Maybe even more.

But brothers aren’t _supposed_ to be lovers.

// Says who? Society? Church? The freaking Child Services? //

// Senin aşk bkz. be pis. //

“Fuck no.”

Dean could not possibly care less for a world that had left a four-year old practically in charge of a six-month old infant brother and their unemployed piss-drunk manic-depressive grieving father. He didn’t give a rat’s ass for any social or ethical or any sort of external repercussions. What he did fear, were the terrible consequences the brothers could possibly inflict on themselves, on each other.

He was terrified he'd end up hurting Sam. And he was terrified he'd end up getting hurt himself.

Tomorrow, Sam would realize how worthlessly little he’d settled for and he’d leave Dean behind, still trapped in the prison of his own life. This Dean knew, as sure as rain that he wouldn’t be able to let Sam go. Not ever. And even if he learned to cope, there would always be this… this sea of awkwardness between them because they’d still be brothers. They’d still be one family. At least, Dean _hoped_ they would be. Family was all he had. Was he really willing to put that on the line for this thing with Sam, that may or may not be anything more than a mere sexual experiment for his little brother?

// I love my brother unconditionally, and you know what, he loves me back and that is not fucking wrong! //

Dean nearly blushed remembering Sam’s impassioned words to the ghost last night. How could he possibly doubt Sam after those words? He huffed and let his forehead fall onto the wheel, with a hard thump. His baby protested with a pretty curt horn blare.

“You and me both, sweetheart.”

Dean was tired, and still sore and more than a little annoyed because, damn it, he shouldn’t have to have the whole freaking weight of the world on his shoulders! Why couldn’t he have the usual girl troubles or sexual identity crises that other guys had at his age?

“Stop kidding yourself, Winchester.” Dean huffed and sat back up straight. “You wouldn’t trade this for anything. You wouldn’t give him up for the world.”

No. No he wouldn’t.

Dean winced, but this time he was also smiling. He’d keep Sam with him forever and ever if he could. He’d take care of him, feed him and bathe him with his own hands, he’d spoil him completely, hold him close through his nightmares, shield him from the wrath of Dad because let’s face it, Sammy was never gonna be the good son, _ever_. His family may be all sorts of screwed up, but they were _his_ to cherish and keep safe. Even if at times, it meant from each other.

// But that isn’t all you wanna do, is it? //

No. No it wasn’t.

// To make someone happy is not wrong. To stick by them no matter what… to love and protect them over everyone else is _never! Fucking! Wrong_!! //

Dean bit his lip hard, trying to suppress the stupid little grin threatening to break out on his face. Shifted into reverse gear and started backing onto the main road.

He wanted to take Sammy in his arms, kiss that constant frown off his face, suck those lush pouting lips to three times their size. Dean wanted to feel the gangly too-long legs wrapped around his waist and those limber too-thin arms entwined behind his neck, holding Sam so close there’d be no telling where one brother ended and the other began.

He wanted (so bad) to lay that flawless body out on the hood of the Impala, pliant and quivering in the heat of Dean’s hands roaming all over him. And he wanted to push into Sam, slow at first then fast, then faster, harder… until Sam screamed his name…

 _I want you_ , he had said.

Dean didn’t want to waste any more time, didn’t want to wait for Sam to make the first move again. He didn’t wanna wait period. Dean gunned the engine, breaking at least six rules of traffic as he double-timed it to Sam’s school.

If he only used his brains, this seemed wrong. But if he followed his heart, his senses, his body and soul... then everything about this felt _right_. Man, why hadn’t he let himself feel, just _feel_ before?

He wanted, no, _needed..._ damn it, he didn’t know the difference anymore and he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was whether Sam still wanted/needed it too. Because Dean was finally ready to give it all to him, for as long as Sam would have him. Not because it would keep Sam from running away to college, because in all likelihood, it probably still wouldn’t. Dean was not going to make any of Sam’s decisions for him, no one had the right to do that but Sam himself. All Dean could do was make the decision for _Dean_. For once, for himself. For the moment.

He’d do it because he loved Sam. Completely, consummately, in every possible sense of the word. And he was not willing to live another day without having Sam know it.

No wonder he rarely ever felt any emotional affinity to the people he'd been with before. They said he was heartless, now he knew where his heart had been all this time. Dean Winchester had been in love for fifteen, no, sixteen years. Ever since his parents brought home a wriggly little bundle from the hospital, put it in his arms and told him he was now, and forever will be, a big brother. It’d been the purest form of love one could ever know; one where Dean had played his part with the utmost loyalty and never asked for anything in return. One where he’d never abused his position of power in Sam’s life.

And if there was a God, he'd bear witness to the fact that Dean had never, ever thought of Sam in a sexual way until very recently, and that too because Sam kissed him first. Trust geekboy to figure things out way before his half-wit big brother, of course. If society threw in sex in the mix and proclaimed it a mortal sin, well, it was their problem not his. Dean couldn't care less either way (and obviously Sam had given up on normal too). He would still be saving their collective asses from whatever evil he could hunt, and go home to the one he loved more than life itself, at the end of the night.

How could he have _possibly_ thought this wrong?

Charged up and nearly breathless with excitement, he chided himself for acting and probably looking like a love-struck teenager, not to mention driving like a maniac. For the first time since Esmeralda Gomez, Dean pulled the Zeppelin tape out and switched to radio instead to find a love songs channel.

“Sonofabitch,” he muttered shaking his head, grinning uncontrollably.

 

  
_***************************************_

 _**Fargo, North Dakota.  
** _ _**Thursday evening, December 1998**  _

_*************************************** _

 

Dean paced the length and breadth of their spacious, empty living room. Long, heavy strides, from one extremity to another, feeling more and more trapped with every rotation. This wasn’t helping.

He’d waited outside the high school for hours. Hours! The bell had been loud and shrill, school got out and kids had tumbled out messily through the narrow gates like prisoners breaking out of a supermax.

Sam Winchester the new sophomore should have come out of there, _right there_ , across the street from where Dean was parked. A massive Americana muscle car right in front of a high school was not exactly a sight anyone could miss. Kids had paused, whistled, walked up to him and circled his baby and touched her and Dean had let them, feeling more than generous, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement as he waited.

And waited.

The procession of kids had eventually petered out. But still no Sam.

// Damn it, Sam!! Come back, please come back… //

His heart raced, his palms fisted into sweat-soaked balls and his eyes refused to stay focused at any one spot as he continued to pace. Looked up at the clock, checked it against his watch. It was nearly seven in the evening and already dark. He’d checked the library, the movie theaters, the school grounds, the school gym, even the mall he knew Sam completely despised…

// He’s okay. He’s coming back. He is not hurt… just mad. He’s not… he’s not… //

Sam had been trained by the very best. He could protect himself and a bunch of others all at the same time if he needed to. No, he was fine. He was not in trouble… he was not lying in a ditch somewhere bleeding…

// Shut up!! Shut the fuck up!! //

Dean’s face was a crumpled mass of pain, both physical and psychological, and he had to force himself to calm down. Before he had a freaking heart attack. Sam was going to be back. And the first thing he would do when he did, if John didn’t think they could afford a third cell phone, then Dean would give him his. Or maybe a beeper. Enough was fucking enough.

Sam was just mad because they sent him away to school when he wanted to stay with Dean. Yeah, that was it. He hadn’t run off to California. God, not yet, not now when Dean himself was…

The door creaked open, throwing Dean’s thoughts in complete disarray as he jumped around towards who he hoped would be…

“Hey kiddo.”

“Dad? You’re back early?”

“Yeah the job went quicker than… what’s wrong?”

// What isn’t wrong? Everything’s wrong, Dad. I screwed up. I screwed up so bad and now Sam’s… //

“Where’s Sam?”

Dean swallowed. He was going to have tell John everything. He was going to have to confess to his Dad that the one job, the one responsibility he’d been entrusted with, he’d fucked up royally. Dean had possibly lost his brother to his foolish cowardice, but maybe not for ever, if they could just bring him back? Maybe he could beg Sam to give him a second chance?

“Answer me, boy.”

There was no choice left, he didn’t know what to do, not anymore. So far everything he’d done had in fact worked to the exact detriment of his little brother. He needed help. For the first time in a long time, when it came to Sam… Dean needed to be told what to do.

He swallowed, looking up at the trust in his father’s face longingly, knowing he’d never see it again. And he began…

“It started a few weeks ago. When we came to Fargo.”

Dean paused, not for effect, but to draw necessary breath.

“Go on.”

John’s voice was deeply sinister, and curious. Dean swallowed. “I came back one night from a date to… to find…”

The door opened.

“Sam!!” Both father and older son exclaimed together. 

The younger boy stood at the door, satchel flung around one shoulder, one hand buried in his jeans pocket as with the other he shut the door close behind him. He didn’t look surprised to see his family gathered to greet him. Just… exhausted.

All the breath in Dean’s body got knocked out for a split second before he gasped back much needed air again. And he managed to do all of that pretty damn quietly.

“Do you know what time it is?” John bellowed, taking two steps towards Sam but the boy held his ground. “Just because I asked you to go to school, you decide not to come back home at all?”

Dean winced, wanting more than anything to grab Sam and whisk him away from Dad’s yelling. But this was a scenario far too familiar to him by now and he knew there was no stopping the screaming match now. Dean hung his head low, bracing himself for the incoming from Sam.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

// Huh? //

Dean's eyebrows went up long before he could raise his head, eyes glued to Sam’s utterly blank face even as he became aware of Dad’s own brand of stunned silence in the periphery. He’d never seen Sam this calm before. His face was schooled into a careful, expressionless mask that looked sort of familiar… and then it struck him.

It was the mask Dean wore himself, practiced and honed to an art form without a looking glass.

John cleared his throat. “Uhh. Okay. Where were you?”

Sam bit his lip. “I just lost track of time. Won’t happen again, I’m sorry.”

John blinked, then looked at Dean. Dean shrugged back subtly, equally lost. At last the old man grumbled, as politely as possible. “Fine. Go to your room.”

Dean heaved a massive sigh of relief, his eyes tracking Sam’s slow but solid strides as he climbed the stairs two at a time to go into his bedroom.

“Dean? What were you saying? What did you find?”

// What did I fi- ? Oh. Umm… //

Fuck.

Think Dean _think_. “I found Sam sulking ‘cause everyone at school has a beeper, and he doesn’t?”

John glared at him. Dean tried to make the puppy-dog face his brother did so well. “It’s probably a good idea, don’t you think it’s a good idea? I mean I know how paranoid you get about his whereabouts…”

John’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, _I_ get paranoid?”

And he turned away, shaking his head and grumbling, heading upstairs to take a long hot shower.

Dean put his hands on his knees bending himself in half, his breathing hopelessly out of control, especially since both sobs and giggles threatened to escape all at once and the Winchesters didn’t exactly do either. Except for Sam maybe, but then everybody knew he was just a big girl.

// Oh, Sammy //

It wasn’t over. The hardest part was yet to come.

 

**(tbc)**

 

 **************************************** ****

**Additional Notes**  
– **Esmeralda Gomez** \- She was Dean's first girlfriend. If you refer back to chapter 1 - she was the girl Dean went to the ice cream parlor with, where 8 year old Sam sees them and realizes his brother was changing.  
– **“What happened to Ruhi?”** Umm… *is sheepish* I don’t know!?! :D Some mysteries just cannot all be completely resolved yeah? :) I left an open-ended possibility that maybe John torched Taniel’s remains just in time, or maybe Ruhi had something to do with the fact that Dean didn’t actually slash his throat until Taniel was really gone. *shrugs* Up to you :D What I do know is that she was able to find peace at last.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter switches back and forth between Sam’s and Dean’s POV. Now that we know what they’re both thinking… guess it just seems logical to let them both narrate the story. Back when this story is set (and when I originally wrote it) Gaddafi was still the Libyan military dictator.

_**Fargo, North Dakota.  
** _ _**Thursday morning, December 1998** _

***** Sam *****

Sam left for school like his family ordered him to, but he never made it there. Instead he flung his satchel around one shoulder and wandered the streets of Fargo all day.

The city had started to gear up for the holidays. Buildings and trees were newly trussed up with lights, and signs put up in shop windows for upcoming sales. Everyone around him went about their usual routines, nothing keeping them out of school or away from work, roaming the streets aimlessly like Sam. Not many people noticed him either, but the ones that did couldn’t help but pause and stare at the goofy looking kid… severely under-dressed for a season like this, his face red from the cold and marred in places with fresh bruises, cuts and scrapes. His shoulders slumped as if with worldly burdens of a man twice his age. How old was the boy again? Sixteen? Seventeen?

What they’d never know was how this life had forced the Winchester boys to grow up faster than their counterparts.

Sam dug his hands into his pockets and kept his head down, not really interested in the sights, or the people. Nothing he did would get his mind off his brother anyway.

He knew Dean was torn, been ever since he could remember. On one hand Dean needed Sam to support the family business… protect others from the fate Mary suffered, find some solace (if not a lot) in the completeness of others’ families. And in the process maybe _stay_ … be a part of their own, screwed-up, little family.

But on the other hand, Dean still tried so hard to preserve as much normalcy for his little brother as he could. Tried to give him the life, an education, the few luxuries they _could_ afford, and all the attention and love Dean never got himself.

// But I haven’t made it any easier for him, have I? //

Sam grimaced, the weight of guilt growing heavy around his ankles as he walked down 12th Avenue towards Moorhead.

// You’re a selfish little brat, Winchester. //

He kept going over his split-second decision to leave Dean behind in that mansion with not one but two ghosts, over and over again. Logically, it was his coming in that had woken up the ghost of Taniel. So _logic_ dictated that the only way to send it back to sleep was if Sam left the premises. It'd seemed so simple, so obvious. Why then had the doors not unlocked themselves right after he sailed through?

Sam had run to the trunk of the car and taken out a machete and two shotguns loaded with rocksalt (he wasn’t going to shoot his own brother with real bullets for fuck’s sake). And he’d tried to hack the place down, but nothing had worked. If the ghost wanted to kill him so bad, then maybe he should've just let him back in again, right.

Right?

Sam shuddered, just another day in the life of the Winchesters… wouldn’t be the first time he would be responsible for a death in the family.

No more than a couple minutes could have passed after Sam’s exit when there was a loud echoing click and suddenly, just like that, the doors slid open. Which could only mean one thing – Taniel was not in control anymore. And yet Sam didn't know if that was because he was gone, or because there was no live body left to possess anymore...

Petrified by the thought of finding Dean dead, Sam couldn’t move. It was almost as if all his brain functions shut down and he just… froze. All he could do was pray, wordlessly, desperately… to a God he didn’t quite believe in yet.

“Watch where you’re going, punk!”

Sam started, jerking a step back. Pulled himself out of the maze of his memories and apologized quietly to the grumpy middle-aged man he’d rammed his shoulder into. Then walked on, his thoughts unwillingly wandering back to the night before.

Dad had been the one rushing in through those doors to go find Dean. Moments later he’d half carried, half dragged Dean’s unconscious form out to his truck and it still took Sam a minute to realize and truly believe that Dean was not dead.

“Sam! Get in the car and start driving. Now!”

Sam remembered climbing into the driver’s seat, gunning the engine and silently, numbly following the taillights of his Dad’s truck. How he got back all the way to Fargo without incident, he didn’t know. He didn’t even remember stopping at any red lights, it was all just one long endless journey towards a realization that he’d almost lost his brother today. Again.

// But you didn’t. You still have him, you… _self-centered bastard_. //

It didn’t occur to him then that he’d just been allowed to drive Dean’s car for the first time without supervision, without a license. And without his big brother’s constant moaning and bitching by his side.

He’d have given anything to have Dean by his side, yelling in his ear and smacking his shoulder, than watch his brother look the way he did right then… unresponsive and broken, his exquisite face unrecognizable under all the dripping blood, like a war-torn rag doll sleeping in Dad’s arms.

Sam had no idea how far or how long he walked, until he was forced to come to a stop. He found himself in an alley with nowhere left to go but back. A dead end. That was when he thought to look at the time and also process the fact that it had been morning when he’d left and now it was nearly dark. Dean would be freaking out by now.

// Did it again, didn’t ya? //

Sam blinked back the tears threatening to blur his vision, he couldn’t allow himself to be blinded by his own petty needs any more. He was a Winchester. His mother gave up her life for Sam. Dad was in the process of giving up _his_ for Mom. Dean was pretty much doing the same for Dad _and_ Sam on a daily basis. No points for guessing who was the only one in this family not pulling his weight.

He breathed in deeply, dug his hands into his pockets and turned around. It was time to set things right, once and for all.

 

*******

 

John and Dean seemed to be deep in grim conversation when he interrupted them by entering the house. They both turned towards him, stunned and relieved all at the same time… Dean even more so than he ever thought was physically possible.

“Do you know what time it is?” John bellowed taking two steps towards Sam but the boy held his ground. “I asked you to go to school, and you decide not to come back home at all?!?”

That wasn’t entirely true. And two days ago, Sam would have been more than happy to snap back with as much contempt for his Dad’s Gaddafi-style of parenting as he could muster up. But right now, that Sam Winchester seemed to him so… childish, and inconsiderate. He didn’t think he wanted to be that guy anymore.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

He waited, for John to maybe yell again, rip his simple apology apart. And he braced himself, keeping his face blank just like he’d seen Dean do so often in the past. But his apology seemed to zap all the wind out of John's sails, and when he spoke next he was still gruff but not so angry anymore.

“Where were you?”

“I just lost track of time. Won’t happen again, I’m sorry.”

And that was all it took. They let him leave, Sam less relieved to not be in the spotlight and more to not have to look at Dean’s bruises. But he wasn’t going to be able to escape so easily, just as Dean was stuck having to deal with Sam and his stunted emotions for a long time.

// You’re killing him just like Taniel was. Only, you’re doing it slowly. //

Dean knocked at their door before pushing it open. Sam knew by the way Dean’s eyes immediately went to the bed first, that he was expecting to find Sam flat on his stomach diagonally across his bed, way he usually found him every time he was sulking about something.

“Hey, come in.”

He called out from where he stood next to his table where he was busy arranging a bunch of new books in a line against the wall. He had managed to go the library sometime during the day, found a couple of great books to distract his distraught self with. Soon as he entered the bedroom he’d taken off his jacket and shoes, and now stood in his faded baggy style jeans and a short teal t-shirt.

Dean lingered close to the bedroom door, as if he didn’t really wanna be there. Sam couldn’t really blame him, obviously. Mustering up all his courage, he glanced up into Dean’s face. At least the bruises seemed to be healing, and the fact that Dean was keeping himself vertical on his own was a significant improvement. The soft glow of their floor lamp that happened to be right behind where Dean stood right then, painted a halo around his dark, muscled frame.

No biggie. To Sam, Dean had always looked like an angel. 

He gulped, pleading with his heart to stop jumping up his throat for once. Just this once, so he could get the things out he needed to say.

// Stop being a wuss. He deserves better. //

It took near physical force to do it, but Sam pulled his scattered mess of a self together. And tried to be more like his brother.

"How're you feeling?"

 

 _**Fargo, North Dakota.  
** _ _**Thursday evening, December 1998** _

***** Dean *****

 

Dean swallowed, struggling to find the words to respond to Sam's uncharacteristic nonchalance. Also struggling to look away because the vision of Sam was making him feel light-headed, and this was so not the time. There were bridges of - argh - _words_ that needed to be built first, before he could get across the divide that was keeping his little brother so far away from him. Where he couldn’t touch him, and Holy motherfucker Dean badly needed to touch him…

// Get a grip, Dean! It’s not like you’re seeing his gorgeous ass for the first time! //

But it sure felt like it.

“I'm fine.” Dean cleared his throat, crossed his arms. “I went to the school to pick you up. You never came out.”

Sam looked up then from his ragged paperback copy of ‘The Grapes of Wrath’. Tried to smile. “I didn’t go to school.”

“Right. The day Dad tells you to go to school, you don’t…”

He smiled a little then… sadly, sheepishly. It was response enough, and Dean nodded. “Where were you?”

“Library.”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Who would believe this phenomenal nerd was his little brother. “Well I came by, like twice. I looked everywhere, I couldn’t find you.”

Sam sounded surprised, “You were looking for me?”

Dean scowled, “Dude.”

Had to be the dumbest question in the history of dumb questions. Of course Dean would look for him. He was always looking for him.

Sam chuckled, lowering his head and turning away again. “Sorry I missed you. It's a big library, you know.”

The next few moments passed in extremely uncomfortable silence. Dean didn’t know how to address his brother the way he stood right now, with his back turned to Dean. Maybe it was his way to indicate dismissal, and if so, the brat sure was picking up all the wrong habits from John. Dean wanted to kick himself, he never was any good at this _talking_ business. Never knew where to start, or where to end, or what to do in the middle.

“I _am_ sorry, Dean.”

Dean looked up. Sam had turned back towards him again, leaning against his table. His face hadn’t been this shuttered since… well, only minutes ago, downstairs. Dean didn’t like how Sam was giving him the same stony-faced treatment he just gave Dad.

“Stop saying that. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“Yes I do.” Sam started walking towards Dean. “Would you close the door please?”

Dean pushed the door until it clicked softly shut behind him.

Sam dug his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been manipulating you from the jump."

"Wh-what?"

"I never planned to run away to California, I just wrote that stupid draft email and left it open for you to find. Because I wanted to see how you’d react. See if you… if you cared…”

Dean’s jaw would have hit the floor, except… now that he was really thinking about it… it didn’t seem to matter. Not really.

They’d both been playing each other, and for _exactly_ the same reason. Dean just hadn’t truly realized what that reason was, until today. He crossed his arms, nodding sadly. Spoke volumes about the kid’s state of mind that Sam needed to be reminded of the very purpose of Dean’s existence.

“Of course I care, Sammy.”

Sam smiled, his eyes glistening and the mask slipping at last. “I don’t see why. I coerced you into doing something you didn’t want. I… don’t know how you could forgive me for that.”

Dean followed his every movement silently, every blink of his thick, wet eyelashes, every terse jerk of his head to get the unruly hair out of his face. Sam suddenly cleared his throat. “But, not anymore. I’m… I’m done playing games. I’m done taking advantage of you.”

Dean frowned, alarm bells going off in his head. “Sam, what are you saying?”

“Don’t worry,” Sam smiled. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Dean exhaled heavily. 

“Least, not right now.”

And lost his breath again. He watched Sam fidget, struggling to find the words and doing the same inside.

“I want to go to college, Dean. You’ve known that for years now. But hey, that’s not due for three years at least. Right?”

 _Three_ … he was counting three years until he turned eighteen. 

“Right.” That’s all Dean could say before he bit his lip and quashed a crazy impulse to tell Sam he was sixteen, not fifteen. And that it wasn’t enough time. Nowhere _near_ enough time.

Sam breathed in heavily and tried to change the subject, rather come back to the main subject at hand. “You were right. This thing, it never felt right from the start. And not because I think my loving you is wrong.”

_Loving._ Sam didn’t notice the way Dean’s face brightened up considerably.

“But expecting you… forcing you to, to do the same, it just wasn’t right. So I’m fixing it. We can go back to being brothers again.”

“…”

“I… I promise I’ll make everything okay the way it was, Dean. You don’t have to worry about me doing anything stupid anymore. Have enough things to worry about as it is.”

“What…” Dean grappled with the fucking words, “why the change of heart?”

Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the next nervously. “Back in Kindred, when the ghost possessed you and you almost killed me…”

“Ew…”

“Sorry. When _Taniel_ was strangling me, for a second, just a second… I wanted to give in and just, let him.”

“What?” Sam had actually contemplated suicide? “You’re shitting me right? I swear to God, Sammy…” Dean was more enraged than anything else. How dare he? He was a Winchester, how could he even think of giving up like that?

“I’m sorry! It just seemed like the easiest way out, you know? But it didn’t last for more than a second, I swear. Dean, please don’t be mad…”

Dean didn’t realize he had started to pace again. He stopped when Sam’s pleading voice reached him and took deep breaths to compose himself. What mattered most is that he was still here.

“I had to tell you because, I need to tell you what happened after. In the very next second I realized how selfish I was being. I realized how selfish I’ve been all my life, Dean. I’ve only ever taken from you. Never given anything back.”

“That’s not true.”

Sam was the whole and sole reason they were still a family. If it weren’t for him… man… he couldn’t even bring himself to imagine what that could have been like.

Sam carried on like he didn’t even hear him. “But I can give you something back now… I can give you your peace of mind back. Your freedom to be yourself, back. You don’t have to pretend anymore, Dean. I’m still here to watch your back. And now you don’t have to worry about Dad finding out either.”

“What…” Dean breathed in to calm himself, “What about all the things you said back there?”

Sam sniveled again and looked down at his feet. “I will always… you know,” he paused, wincing and looking away. “I will always love you. I can’t ever stop, please don’t ask me, Dean, ‘cause I couldn’t do it.”

Sam turned back towards him, his eyes pleading for… something. Forgiveness maybe? Understanding?

“But I’ll try not to let it come between us, or make you uncomfortable in any way. Obviously I’m assuming you’re okay with the fact that… I’m kinda gay?”

He pulled up his eyebrows so matter-of-factly that Dean had to laugh. “Yeah, I noticed.”

// I’m kinda gay too, dude. In case you didn’t notice… please tell me you noticed? //

“I’m not going to fight it Dean, but I’m not going to force it down your throat either,” Sam said, shrugging a little pathetically, “No pun intended?”

Dean snorted, looking away afraid he'd start blushing. Rubbed his chin as he started to sort the mess out inside his head. Apparently Sam had also been doing a lot of thinking of his own today. He looked back at his little brother, and saw something in his face he hadn’t ever seen before.

“Sammy?”

“What?”

“I see you’ve gone ahead and done some growing up behind my back, kiddo.”

Sam snorted, rubbing the moisture away from one eye, shaking his head.

And then Dean exclaimed, “Dude! Are you taller?”

"Alright, enough."

“You’d better not have grown taller, you little bitch.”

Sam chortled as he straightened up to his full height and Dean did the same, still pretending to be mad. Honestly he _was_ a little, okay a lot miffed that his little brother now had like an inch over him. When Sam stopped laughing, his eyes weren’t so dead anymore and he was smiling softly. Dean didn’t think he’d seen his brother look quite so fuckable as he did in that moment.

// Down, boy. Still not the time. //

Sam stepped back and sat down on his table, looking tired all of a sudden. “So… we’re good then?”

Dean exhaled. It was a good performance, stellar in fact. But Dean had seen right through it. Just one day of anxiety had nearly driven Dean out of his mind, how had Sam managed to do it for so many weeks? Months even, maybe?

How do people spend their whole lives secretly in love, never being able to share it with the person of their dreams?

“I don’t know. Was kinda hoping maybe you’ll make up to me for all the…” Dean gestured with a hand at his bruised face, “shit you put me through.”

He watched as Sam gulped, his Adam’s Apple bobbing nervously, maybe more guiltily, and then Sam wrapped his arms around himself tight. “Yeah, sure Dean. Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yeah. Anything. You name it.”

Dean took a step closer to the table where Sam had perched himself. “Are you sure, Sammy? I wouldn’t want to _force_ you into anything.”

He knew he was being cruel, throwing all of Sam’s guilt back into his face. But he couldn’t help it. Something about this conversation, this night… the way Sam seemed both maturer and sexier all at once... for the first time, Dean wasn't afraid to act like he would have with anyone else in this situation. Like a predator, closing in on his beautiful, willing, prey.

“Y-Yeah I’m sure. A-Anything.”

“Well… I’d very much like to kiss you, if that’s okay?”

Sam froze.

Dean took another step forward, his voice dropping to a sharp whisper. Words as a brother, a son, or just a regular guy didn’t come easy to Dean. But the words of a lover… now those Dean Winchester had absolutely no trouble with. 

“I wanna taste your lips,” he whispered, “Lick your teeth, the insides of your mouth.”

“…”

“I want your tongue wrapped around mine, wanna take your breath away, Sammy. Will you let me do that? Will you?”

“Dea… wha…”

Sam looked like he was about to hyperventilate. Dean was barely inches away from him by now. Sam could reach out and touch his brother, pull him in if he wanted. Dean smiled, his eyes going soft as he took in his brother’s alluring form. Sam's eyes were still sparkling with something wet, something hopeful and a sprinkling of fear that still masked it all. They looked back into Dean’s eyes as if searching for something, a sign perhaps that would assure him this wasn’t a dream. Or a joke. Maybe even a malicious form of payback.

“I mean it. There’s nothing more that I want right now than to hold you, and kiss you.”

“B-But…”

“Shhh…” Dean took that last step at last, one hand reaching up to mildly caress the young boy’s face with his knuckles.

Sam was shaking. If he hadn’t already been sitting his knees would surely have buckled to the ground. Dean reflexively shushed him, wanting nothing more than to allay the boy’s doubts.

// What can I say to make you trust me? What can I say to wipe that scaredy look off your face? //

“I love you too, Sammy.”

Sam’s breath hitched in his throat.

“And I’m never gonna stop.”

Dean then lowered his face to his brother’s, and kissed Sam.

 

 

***** Sam *****

Sam was hallucinating. Daydreaming maybe. Yeah that was it. This wasn’t really happening. It just… couldn’t.

Dean stepped in close, as close as he could possibly get while Sam instinctively leaned backward until he could go no further. Dean casually followed where he went and not once did he break eye contact. As if challenging Sam to look right into the depths of his sea green eyes and suss out the whole truth.

“I love you too, Sammy. And I’m never gonna stop.”

Sam gulped. Hard. His lungs forgot to draw in breath and his heart started to race when Dean’s hand came up to gently touch his face. Before he could so much as think to react, the enthralling eyes were closing in on his own, and it took awhile for Sam to realize it was because Dean was lowering his face towards him. Slowly… insanely cautiously. Like he was giving Sam enough time to flinch away if that's what he needed to do. But flinching was utterly out of the question; hell Sam couldn’t even move a muscle. And then Dean kissed him. That was the moment his heart screeched to a full stop.

// Oh God. //

Dean started slow and soft, pressing his lips to Sam’s closed ones, gently cupping Sam’s face with his hands. He pulled apart once to look into Sam’s eyes. The boy must have clearly looked spooked, because while this was what he’d wanted more than anything, he still couldn’t bring himself to trust that this was really happening. 

“You… you… don't hate me?”

Dean blinked, looking hugely confused. But Sam couldn’t help it. While his body was all ready and more than willing to surrender, the fear of being let down again kept nagging away at his heart. Dean had promised him the world once before, but only because he hadn’t wanted to lose Sam. As a _brother_. He still didn’t know if the love Dean was expressing was the brotherly kind or the… _other_ kind. He needed proof, wary little smartass that he was.

Dean didn’t look angry or turned off, didn’t roll his eyes, didn’t even huff in frustration or react in any of the ways Sam was expecting him to. Instead, his eyes became so unbelievably soft, it made the now constant urge to burst into tears even stronger. 

His thumb on Sam’s left cheek flitted a line across his jaw once, twice. “I’m done fighting this Sammy, I’m done trying to convince myself or you that it’s wrong. Because it’s not, I see that now.”

“Bu… but I’m supposed to set you free…”

Dean just smiled, didn’t laugh at him even though this was probably a very good time to do it. “No can do, kiddo. You can’t make me fall in love with you first and then tell me to buzz off. Where am I supposed to go?”

Sam’s eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. So very like Dean to take advantage of the opportunity and press his mouth down to Sam’s. Sam just sat there, breathing in the heady mix of Dean’s cologne with grease and metal and antiseptic with something unique that smelled like nothing else in the world, letting Dean lick away tenderly at his lips with the tip of his tongue. He held the younger boy’s face turned slightly upwards so that even when Sam flinched, he didn’t let him go too far.

“Shhh…” Dean paused to look into Sam’s eyes again. “It helps if you close your eyes.”

Sam automatically did as he was told. 

It was familiar and yet not, the moist softness of Dean’s lips, on his own trembling, disbelieving ones. He wondered what his own mouth tasted like… part hope perhaps and part desperation, fear of rejection, the relief of forgiveness and the potential for great, unquenchable, coffee-flavored passion, all here… right here for Dean’s taking. Dean dove in, sucking in Sam’s lower lip and slipping his fingers into Sam’s hair just behind his ears. Started to gently run draw little circles at the sensitive skin behind each ear, rhythmically.

Sam moaned.

Dean smiled into the kiss, leveraging the moan to push his tongue further into Sam’s mouth. He moved one hand down to rest on Sam’s chest, feeling the healthy-rapid beating of his heart, then slid around to the back and pressed his brother as close to his own chest as he could go. Sam leaned in, feeling his brother’s arm practically vibrating around him. Like he was resolved to never ever let him go.

// Do something! Let yourself _move_ , ass-hat. //

The shock slowly wore off as the pressure on his lips became firmer, bolder, getting more and more insistent that Sam participate. So he did.

Slowly, hesitantly he brought his own arms up and around Dean’s waist, gripping the back of the flannel shirt with his trembling fists, anchoring himself to Dean. He let his head fall back further and allowed Dean’s tongue deeper into him, forging forward and meeting it bravely with his own. Through aching jaws and straining whimpers, they practically fucked each other’s mouths for what felt like ages… as if their very lives depended on it.

This was it - all Sam would ever want or need from life. His brother’s arms solid around him, his brother’s lips conjoined with his and all seemed right with the world. The trouble would begin or rather return full force when Dean pulled away. Which he would have to, eventually. Speaking both literally… and metaphorically.

He’d convinced himself he was going to survive this. Survive staying under one roof with his brother and not expect anything more than his brotherhood. But here Dean was, throwing his world into turmoil. _Again_.

He wondered if Dean would bitch-slap him upside the head if he asked him if he was sure, again.

 

***** Dean *****

The taste of Sam… all winter-fresh and awkward-innocent and so purely and distinctly _Sam_ … Dean knew he'd get instantly addicted, and like hell was he ever giving it up. The way his slender frame fit easily into Dean’s arms… as if this was exactly the way it was always meant to be. Dean felt like he was floating, hovering at least two feet in the air, high like he was on speed, free to live and love forever and ever… until all of a sudden Sam pulled back abruptly, and gazed questioningly into Dean’s eyes again.

“Dean, a-are you sure?”

Dean wanted to roll his eyes, but he couldn’t do that to Sam, not right now. He noticed how Sam had perhaps unconsciously spread his long legs even further as if making space for Dean between them. And so step in Dean did, close… closer until their groins were flush against each other. A gesture few girls would appreciate on a date but hey, Dean was a guy and so was Sam… well, in most ways that mattered anyway. And there was nothing he needed more than to see how completely and indisputably attracted Dean was to him. His reward was hearing Sam gasp, feeling Dean’s hardness in equal response to his own.

“You tell me.”

Sam’s pupils dilated and his face went beetroot-red as he squirmed a little, struggling to catch his breath. Dean chuckled, his eyes still tracking every adorable little move his brother made… ducking his head to peer up through his bangs, staring into Dean’s eyes and blushing an even brighter crimson before smiling softly and finally burying his face in Dean’s neck. But not once did he try to pull away from or put any distance between Dean and himself.

“Oh no… you’re not getting off so easy, kiddo.”

He put a finger under Sam’s chin and gently pushed his face up so he could look into those intoxicating doe eyes again. “Tell me you believe me, tell me you still want this, Sammy.”

// Please… //

“Please tell me it’s not too late.”

Sam swallowed, his eyes brimming over, and Dean resolved to do something about that but later. Right now he waited, his heart slowing down in sheer anticipation of what Sam would say. The younger boy's lips were plump and red and quivered near violently as they opened to softly whisper, “I would have waited forever.”

Dean felt almost a head rush coming on, relieved laughter bubbling up his throat but didn’t get a chance to erupt as Sam pulled his head down and once again captured his lips with his own.

// Sammy, I love you so much… //

Sam whispered, “I love you too.”

Warm, tingling and absolutely delicious tremors ran down his spine at the magical sound of those words, forcing Dean to open his eyes. Took a while for him to realize that he’d said the words out loud himself. Guess he was losing control _again,_ and fast. Except this time, he didn't mind it too much.

Sam boldly (or maybe unconsciously) entwined his legs around Dean’s hips, crossing them behind Dean’s back and sliding forward to the edge of the table on which he sat so their chests were tucked in tight together. Dean wrapped his own arms around the boy and bent forward seeking another glorious kiss. Sam bit at his nose instead, smile full of a still hesitant coyness, his dimples deep as craters on each cheek where the skin was still as soft as it was back when he was an eight-year old adorably chubby little kid. Luckily the baby fat didn’t last, or Dean didn’t think he'd be able to do what he was about to do now.

“Bed time, Sammy.”

"Wh-What?"

In the very next instant Sam yelped, as Dean lifted him clear off the table and into his arms. Sam laughed in surprise and delight, clasping his limbs even tighter around Dean and allowing himself to be carried over to the bed closest to them.

“No, _that_ one by the window.” Sam mock-whined and Dean pretended to be exasperated as he walked to the next bed. Sam laughed heartily as Dean leaned forward, dumping his load onto the bed before putting one knee on the bed himself and reached up to pull the curtains back from the window.

Moonlight streamed in through the clear glass panes and without thinking Sam turned his face upwards to welcome it like aloe to his wounds. He reached out with one meek hand to hold Dean’s knee, waiting for his big brother to come back to him. Dean stepped down and stretched out beside Sam and the brothers lay facing each other… chest to chest, legs locked with legs… mouths once more welded together.

This, right here, right now… _This_ , Dean thought… was perfection.

His hands couldn’t stop touching, caressing, stroking every inch of Sam’s body they could reach. And the clothes were being a goddamned nuisance but he wasn’t sure if it was too soon.

“Sammy…” he whispered imploringly, as with one hand he played with the helm of Sam’s t-shirt.

Sam licked his lips and nodded fervently. “Please…” and that was all he said.

He helped Sam pull the shirt over his head and flung it to the floor. Brought his arms back around the now bare torso, skin still chilled under his warm palms. Sam gave a full-body shudder and for a moment Dean worried, until he looked up into the younger boy’s eager, clearly aroused face. And all his questions were answered.

Dean kissed him again, one arm wrapping around his body and drawing soft circles on the bare skin of his back. When they parted to draw breaths, he waited and watched for what his brother wanted next. Sam’s eyes darted down to Dean’s own layers of shirts, and he didn’t need to ask twice. Dean sat up and pulled his shirt and black tee off so he was left in just his jeans and an amulet on a black string round his neck, then shimmied down to lie next to Sam again.

This felt like a first date to Dean. Even though they’d done so much more before. Maybe the difference was that, this time, it felt _right_.

“How’s this?” Dean asked in between stroking Sammy’s flanks and softly kissing random spots on his face. Sam closed his eyes and just hummed in satisfaction though Dean didn’t think he was aware of the sounds he was making. Dean bit his lip, his toes curling right off the bed. The damn sounds were going straight down to his swiftly tightening crotch.

He let one hand wander downwards, circling the navel until Sam's belly trembled under the assault. His hand dipped further, stroking the big bulge over the cover of his denim jeans. Sam moaned out loud, arching his back with pleasure and closing his eyes just as his mouth fell wide open.

“Lie back.”

Dean pushed at Sam’s shoulder so he’d be flat on his back. Then got up on his hands and knees and with a brief smirk, started to crawl down Sam’s body… kissed his way down the smooth chest, sucking at one nipple then the next for a few seconds before licking a wet line down to the belly button he adored so much. With one hand below, he started to unbutton the faded blue jeans, slowly, teasingly pulling the zipper down…

“Dean, wait…”

Dean paused and looked up, worry still lurking behind his eyes. “What is it? I’m sorry if I…”

“No! No it’s not that.” Sam was still panting hard, his eyes dazed and half-closed from the intense eroticism. Dean could feel how freaking hard he was even through his jeans. “I just… I want…”

Dean raised himself back up and closer to Sam. “Anything, you name it kiddo. What is it you want?”

Sam bit his lower lip, “I just don’t want to… you know, not alone?”

Dean frowned, “But you’re not alone, baby, I’m right here?”

“Umm…”

Dean’s eyes widened with the slow realization. “Oh.” Dean smirked then. “ _Oh_.”

Sam blushed again, “Jerk.”

Dean chuckled back, not responding the way he usually did for once. So Sammy didn’t want to come alone? That could be arranged. He thought back to the last couple of times they’d done this, and how Dean had held himself back, instead focusing solely on Sam. He hadn’t allowed himself any pleasure out of those encounters whatsoever, because he’d thought it so very wrong. He’d been trying so hard to convince himself that he wasn’t supposed to be turned on. A losing battle, considering Dean had never been so hard for anyone else his entire life.

“Don’t you worry about me, sweetheart. I ain’t no saint, and even if I was I couldn’t possibly resist you. You’re so fucking hot, Sammy.”

Sam whimpered his loudest, a couple of teardrops leaking from the side of his eyes. _God damn it_ , Dean really had to do something about that. But later.

Dean lay back down besides Sam again, sucking at his neck while gently pulling the loose-fitting denim down Sam’s slim hips. Sam twisted and lifted himself up to help until both his briefs and jeans were at his knees and Dean’s hand was zealously exploring the newly exposed organs – heavy, ticklish balls and a practically vibrating cock. Sam shuddered, his body responding to the sensations the only way it knew how. Cautiously he reached for Dean’s zipper, pulling it down and then pushing the boxers’ fabric aside to get to his weeping erection. The first time ever that Sam’s fingers brushed over the bare skin of his shaft, Dean felt a little galaxy explode behind his eyelids.

“Ah! Sonofa… God!”

It took superhuman resistance for Dean to not come right there and then like a freaking twelve-year old. Hell even Sam was doing better and that would be embarrassing to say the least. He pushed Sam back on his back and laid half on top of the boy, quickly aligning his cock against his brother’s and taking them both in his big hand. Sam gasped so loud, he was afraid John would know what was going on in here without even coming in.

“Keep it down, princess…” He softly kissed the mewls away, encouraging Sam’s one arm to go around his neck and the other hand he tugged downwards. Sam bent his head forward to look at the two of them together, then slowly but cautiously let Dean wrap his fingers around them both… gasping at the feel of his own shaft rubbing against Dean’s, slip-sliding within his long, elegant digits.

“Y-Yeah… that’s it, Sammy. Don’t be afraid. Grip ‘em harder.”

Sam did as he was told and Dean wrapped his own hand around their shafts as well. Together the hands moved, up and down, stroking them both at once. 

“Oh God! Oh sweet Jesus!” Sam moaned loudly again, prompting Dean to kiss him just to muffle the sounds. He would have made some crass comment about taking the Lord’s name in vain if only he had the breath in his lungs to do so.

They pulled and squeezed and repeated in tandem, Dean controlling the rhythm and Sam happy to follow his lead. They moved against each other, rocking forward and arching back, seeking as much friction as they could create. Somewhere in the middle, Dean flipped them over so he was on his back and Sam lay on top of him completely. He used both hands to fondle and squeeze Sam’s ass, while Sam continued to grind away against his brother, eventually working both of them to heavenly release.

When they came, they came together. Dean grunted and bit back a string of expletives, and Sam buried his face in Dean’s neck to stifle his own cries. Sam collapsed ruthlessly on top of his brother but Dean was far too gone to notice. Several minutes passed before Dean realized his breathing was quite severely constricted by the deadweight that was Sam. Sat up and gently moved Sam until he came to rest on the bed. Sam whimpered in protest, and Dean chuckled, ruffling his hair beyond salvation.

"I'm not that heavy dude, come on."

“Yes you are. No more candy canes for you.”

Sam whined again, his eyes twinkling with mischief. There was also a certain peace, a quality of _normal_ in his eyes that Dean cherished. This is how he wanted to see Sam, for as long as the boy would let him. Three years was a long time. Things could always be different, plans didn’t always work out, minds could be changed… you never know.

He groped around the floor and picked up the first thing that came into his hand – his flannel shirt. Groaned a little but proceeded to clean himself and Sam up with it. Laundry was way overdue anyway. Sam craned his face up towards Dean, offering his mouth to another kiss and Dean rushed to oblige. He felt his cock stirring up again and sighed because damn it he could see it already… this insatiable hunger for Sam was going to be a very young death of him.

Sam started to pull him back down again, but Dean resisted. “No, no, not now Sammy. Come on, I have to go start dinner.”

He laughed, suddenly realizing where they were, and who else was in the house with them. For the past few minutes, he’d been content to pretend nothing and no one else existed outside this bedroom. Too bad they couldn’t stay in here forever. Sam pouted, sitting up as well and sighing oh-so dramatically. Dean scowled at him as he stood up and fixed his own clothes. “Bitch.”

Sam pouted harder, “Hardly! You gotta go _start dinner_.”

Dean chuckled. After zipping up and putting his black t-shirt on again, he came back towards the bed. Sam started smirking triumphantly up at him but instead Dean pulled him up until he was on his feet beside the bed. As his hands got busy pulling the boy’s pants back in place, he nuzzled softly against Sam’s left ear, “Stop pouting, your lips look like half a duck’s beak when you do that.”

“No they don’t. You love it when I pout.”

Well, _duh_. “Oh yeah? How do you know?”

Sam wound his arms around Dean’s neck again as he let his brother zip him up and rest his hands on Sam’s buttocks, patting teasingly. Sam grinned as he pecked at Dean’s nose again. “I know.”

Dean couldn’t believe his luck. This beautiful… exquisite boy was all his to keep. He must have done something right in a past life. Or maybe even this one.

“Dean…” the boy’s jailbait-voice was back again, “after dinner, can we… you know? Umm that is if you want to…”

He bit back a shy smile and waited for Dean to respond. Of course, Dean knew what he was getting at.

“I don’t know, Sammy. I was thinking maybe we should wait?”

Sam stopped smiling, his eyes coloring with slight suspicion. He tried to pull away but Dean’s hands were still clasped around his waist and he wasn’t letting go. “Can I ask why?”

“Mmm, just…” Dean shrugged. “Why don’t we, you know, take it slow? Wait until…”

“Until?”

“Until you’re sixteen?”

Sam pulled back then, crossed his arms against his chest and glared. “Sixteen?”

“Yeah. Nice, round universally accepted number, don’t you think?”

Sam walked over to his table and sat down on it again, his arms still crossed, his face turning redder by the second. Dean tried not to laugh.

“Sixteen.”

“Yeah, assuming we're in the right place at the right time, of course. Minimum age of consent differs by state lines after all.”

Alarm clocks never did survive too long in the Winchester household. They were, for one reason or another, always getting picked up and hurled across the room, more often than not at the older Winchester brother. By the hands of the younger one. Dean should have known that. And actually, he did.

“What’s the matter, Sammy? Your ears look a little red there…”

“ _Sixteen!?!?!_ ”

“Don’t blame me! I didn’t make the rules man. Consider yourself lucky we’re not living in Madagascar, did you know the age of consent there is twenty-one?”

The clock shattered against the closing bedroom door barely a nanosecond before it could thump Dean right in the face.

 

***** Sam *****

Sam shook his head, biting back a grin threatening to break out on his face. Dean’s new affinity to the law did manage to rile him up good. But of course Dean was kidding, he knew that. Big brothers never do stop being big brothers, do they?

The door slammed shut behind Dean, and debris from the now demised analog clock spread all over the carpeted floor. And just like that, the room fell abruptly, and deathly, silent. It was like the world had become suddenly, unnervingly, empty.

Sam blinked, once, twice, a few more times as if trying to recall what he’d forgotten. Like chasing the fine gossamer of a beautiful dream he didn’t want gone, but was steadily slipping away. His heart started to race again, and he wondered if he’d just dreamed it all up. Maybe he'd lost his mind and maybe, maybe Dean was never here? Maybe Dean never came up to the room at all, never touched him like he did and never… never said all the things he…

When had he ever known Dean to talk like that anyway?

Existence swam around him. Before he knew what he was doing, Sam was running to the door and yanking it open so hard all other hinges in the house trembled.

“Dean!!!”

His breathing was shot, his eyes wide with panic, and when Sam screamed he didn’t even know what to expect in response. All he knew was that he needed to _know_ … needed to be sure, one way or another.

Dean was halfway down the stairs when he looked up, his eyebrows furrowing together at all the commotion. His mouth smirked open to react but then his eyes met Sam’s. The smirk disappeared, and Dean  pursed his lips, glancing quickly toward the living room where they could hear their father tinkering about with his stolen police scanner, cussing something about weak receptions in hilly areas. Sam stood his ground but his knees wobbled, ready to just give in and let his body curl up on the floor next to, and just like, pieces of the shattered clock. Silently pleading for his brother to… if nothing else then just to… look at him once again.

// Please don't let this be a dream, please… //

John’s voice receded and Dean hurriedly started striding back up the stairs towards his brother.

“De…” He never got to finish. Because Dean was there, holding him, enveloping him, practically lifting him off his feet as he pulled them both back into the safe haven of their room. Closed the door and leaned the younger boy back against it.

Sam shivered painfully as he let his head fall forward onto Dean’s chest. “I'm… sorry, I…”

“Shh… it’s okay, you're okay.”

Lips crashed into lips again, frantic and desperate and callous and more than a little deranged because, damn it, happiness can do that to you.

“I’m here, Sammy. It’s real, it’s all real.”

Sam collapsed then, weak legs no longer willing to carry his pathetic ass around but that was okay, ‘cause Dean was here. “I thought I was dreaming.”

Dean’s fingers holding Sam’s chin up dug blunt nails into his skin and it stung. If this was Dean’s version of a pinch, then it was working.

“Understandable. After all, I _am_ a dream come true.”

Sam shook his head and giggled, God how he loved this arrogant jackass. But Dean also said a whole lot more with his eyes and Sam heard it all, word for word. The bloom of warmth started slow, stoked further and further by his big brother’s unfailing ability to make everything okay. And their shared laughter mangled all valiant attempts at any serious kissing, echoing through their moon-bathed bedroom with reckless abandon.

Dinner was gonna have to wait.

 

*******

 

(tbc)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue in two parts. Finally, I know *facepalm*. I'm so sorry, 'me' time has been hard to come by of late. Well here it is, the first part. Hope it doesn't disappoint. Back with Sam's POV.

**_Fargo, North Dakota._  
_February 1999 [Present Day]_  
**

***************************************

  
Sam grabs the last seat available in the computer lab, looks around to make sure no one’s snooping, and opens his personal email. There’s a new email from Natalie and it brings an instant grin to his face. 

> _Okay. I’m just going to say it. I think I’ve earned the right, don’t you? Oh, who cares what you think? I’m saying it…_ _TOLD YOU SO!_ _Must admit I am a little heartbroken by your wonderful news, babe. Because he’s never letting you go, I know he won’t, which means I never get to have you again. Unless he’s willing to share? ;)_

Sam bites back a grin, looks around again before peeking at the note that he knows is only going to get more and more X-rated from this point on.

> _So, is it true what Michelle said? Is he really hung like a stallion on steroids? Does he put you on his lap and make you ride him like a…  
>  _

Aargh.

Sam feels his cheeks burning up and skims through the rest of it, counts six more equine references before rolling his eyes and shutting the window down. Good old Natalie, hasn’t changed a bit. Looks at his wristwatch, still two hours to go until school’s out. Puts an elbow on the table and rests the side of his face in his hand, allowing himself to drift into another daydream. Been having a lot of those lately, and its all Dean’s fault.  
  
What is he supposed to write back to Natalie? Tell her his brother is still not putting out? That he’s making him wait till his sixteenth birthday before he can get his virginal status revoked? She’d laugh so hard he’d hear her all the way from California, and never hear the end of it for as long as they both live.  
  
Yep. That’s right. Dean was _not_ kidding.  


_************************************* _

_**Somewhere in South Dakota.  
December 1998 [Ten weeks ago]** _

_************************************* _

  
It’s ten to seven in the AM when Sam drifts back to consciousness. Nothing’s changed since the last time he was awake. He’s still slumped sideways in the passenger seat, glancing up at Dean with half-lidded eyes, curled up under his big brother’s jacket that Dean draped on him sometime last night. Dean is still driving, eyes squinting yet keenly trained at the road.

Dad is in his truck behind them, following to make sure his exhausted boys didn’t drive off the road or something. And they’re all still on this long, endless fucking interstate to nowhere. But hopefully Fargo falls on the way.  
  
He yawns, “How far?”  
  
“Couple hundred miles.” Dean turns to him then, how he manages to smile when all Sam wants to do right now is bitch and gripe, is beyond Sam. “Go back to sleep, princess. We’ll be home soon.”  
  
“Stop calling me that, dickface.”  
  
Dean chuckles. Sam sulks.

“And here, take your stupid jacket back,” he flings it at Dean’s shoulder, careful not to block his line of sight. “It’s still got stinky gremlin gunk all over it.”  
  
Cautiously he sniffs himself. “Aw, man! Now I've got stinky gremlin gunk all over me. Yuck!”  
  
Dean just shakes his head. "And that's why I call you a little frickin' princess."  
  
Sam flips him the bird but goes right back to complaining just because he can. “I can’t wait to jump into a hot shower when we get back.”  
  
A second later though, his voice takes on a slightly different tone. “You’re welcome to join me, of course. If you like.”  
  
Dean smirks to acknowledge Sam’s lascivious grin and almond-shaped eyes twinkling suggestively. But he keeps his gaze transfixed at the highway ahead.

“In fact, you’re welcome to do _more_ , if you like?”  
  
“…”  
  
“Ahem… if you’re not completely burnt out from the hunt, that is…”  
  
“…”  
  
“Oh for God’s sake!! Dean, knock it off. It’s not funny anymore!”  
  
“Whoever said I was joking, Sammy?”  
  
Beat.

“I hate you.”  
  
Dean laughs out loud.  
 

> _**Email draft to Natalie #32 (never sent):** _
> 
> _Dean’s an ass! He just won’t quit this stupid teasing game. Like he’s really gonna make me wait till my 16th birthday? Bleh, he’s gonna have to wait too, moron. I’d sure like to see THAT happen.  
>    
>  PS: He’s got this fetish, I think, for washing my hair. And get this – he prefers baths to showers. Not that I’m complaining, not at all. But can you imagine - _ Dean _?_ _Who would have thought?_
> 
>  

_************************************  
  
Fargo, North Dakota.  
December 1998 [Nine weeks ago]   
** _

_************************************** _

  
Dean lies naked as the day he was born, flat on his back, arms folded under his head. Sam is where he usually finds himself these days - right on top of his big brother, head resting on his rock-solid chest. He feels restricted in his own jeans and t-shirt, but the stark contrast turns him on, makes him feel sort of powerful like he’s never felt before. Sam keeps one leg and one arm flung across his brother possessively, as his fingers make tiny, concentric circles around Dean’s right nipple.  
  
He hears his brother’s heart jump, pulse gaining speed and ferocity as his hands continue to map and explore every inch of bare skin in his reach. Hesitates before going further than the navel and biting his lip, looks up into Dean’s face.  
  
Dean is flushed, his eyes drooping and lips panting wide open but when Sam looks up at him, he doesn’t neglect to meet his gaze. And he smiles. “Go ahead, Sammy. It’s okay…”  
  
Sam’s own breath hitches in his throat, feeling more than a little overwhelmed. Looking and feeling every bit the naïve fifteen year old that doesn’t know what to do. Dean sighs, deep and contented, brings his hands down around Sam, rubbing his back encouragingly. “I told you, baby. You can do anything you want…”  
  
// Anything you want. //  
  
Sam practically quivers with delight, like someone just handed him keys to the great ancient library of Alexandria and yelled "go nuts!" And yes he's fully aware of how loud and how long Dean will laugh if Sam ever used that nerdy analogy out loud, thank you very much.

He starts with fleeting, ghost touches on pale white skin that hasn’t seen the sun in months. Winter's been unforgiving on Fargo this year. And when Dean trembles ever so slightly beneath his fingers, Sam boldly tongues the same spots, diligently, torturously, licking away at his leisure like a Cheshire cat that couldn’t care less for the effects he’s having on his victim. He hits the real jackpot with teeth… nipping, gnawing, adding that bittersweet element of pain that has Dean finally letting go of the lip he’s been biting down on, ever since he got naked for Sam.  
  
Sam doesn’t think Dean is at all conscious of the noises he’s making. His soft, guttural moans both helpless and feral, at once dangerous and delightful, whimpering and grunting and cursing and that magical, unbroken litany of ‘Sammy Sammy Sam’…  
  
Sam doesn’t think he’s ever heard sounds so sweet, so sincere… so mindblowingly hot. Starts to really and truly believe in the possibility that his brother might actually be really and truly into him.

>   
>  _**Email draft to Natalie #34 (never sent):** _
> 
> _Last night, Dean lay back and let me tally up all the freckles on his body. I wanted to get it absolutely right so badly, it's fucking scary. If you thought the twenty odd on his face alone are drool-worthy, wait till you see his back. Got the whole grid method down pat and everything. And he just kept staring at me all that time. Didn’t flinch, didn’t snort or make stupid jokes to fill the silence, didn’t move a muscle. He just lay there for me and… stared back at me like I was the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on. And every time I gazed up into his eyes, I lost count.  
>    
>  How come he has no trouble counting my stupid moles?  
>    
>  _

  
_************************************  
  
Fargo, North Dakota.  
December 1998 [Eight-point-five weeks ago]** _

_************************************** _

  
Sam figures it out at last. Or so he thinks.  
  
Saturday morning, the sun finally manages to break out from behind the clouds. Sam munches on an apple and lounges on his bed, feeling too lazy to go down and help Dean with breakfast. He'll have to pay for that later with a towel-whack to the seat of his pants, but right now he doesn't care. That's when he notices a white envelope sticking out of Dean’s black leather jacket. He squints at it for a couple minutes, contemplating if it's worth the effort of pulling himself to his feet and walking the three odd steps to reach it… but it is.

It’s a medical report. Dean actually went to the local sex clinic and got himself tested.  _For Sam._  
  
Sam is practically beaming all through breakfast. John hasn’t seen him so eager to go to the shooting range in, like, ever. He doesn't even complain when he's put on gun cleaning duty in the afternoon. Later that day, Dad drops them off at the gym, and it’s the opportunity Sam has been waiting for all day.  
  
Dean is flat on his back, bench-pressing two-twenty when suddenly another weight settles on top of his stomach, knocking all the wind out of his lungs. “Ooofff!!! What the fuck, freak-face?!?”  
  
Sam straddles his brother, holding him hostage between his legs and under the weights, puts both his palms flat on Dean’s chest and grins. And yes he’d looked around earlier to make sure they didn't have an audience. “You’re clean.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I saw your report. You’re clean, great! Awesome! Can we do it now?”  
  
Dean snorts through his breathlessness and lets his head fall back. “You know what happens when you get into my stuff without permission, don't ya, baby bro?”  
  
Sam squints, okay he didn’t think of that. Tries to act casual, steers the conversation back from brother-land to lover’s lane. “Don’t change the subject. Jig is up, Deano. No more excuses, alright?”  
  
Sam smirks victoriously, more than a little pleased with himself. He lowers himself until his lips barely brush against Dean’s. Teases until Dean is straining upwards into the shadow of a kiss that isn’t really there. Dean huffs in frustration before falling flat on his back again.  
  
“And who’s the cocktease now?”  
  
Sam just giggles, “I’m a quick study.”  
  
Dean lets out a short laugh, then narrows his eyes. “Yeah but, well, this test only clears… me." 

Sam frowns, suddenly realizing his oversight. "Uh, yeah, of course. I-I should take the test too. But Dean, you know, Natalie and I… we were always protected. Always!"

Dean lets go of the bar and brings his hands up to hold the narrowest part of Sam's hips. He sighs deeply before asking quietly, "And what about Drew?"

Sam backs up in shock. He's about to stand but Dean slides out from under the bar, quickly sits up and pulls Sam onto his lap.  

"De- I-I told you. Nothing happened between Drew and me that… that could…"

Dean's arms go around the squirming boy until he's the one holding Sam down for a change. "I believe you, Sammy. But, Drew is, the risks with… you know, what he does…" he exhales heavily, unable to finish the rest of that sentence.

A guilty silence stretches for the better part of a whole minute.

"I'm not mad. I'm not mad, I promise," Dean whispers, massaging his little brother's back in long strokes, attempting to still the tremors no doubt. 

"How long have you known?"

"Couple of weeks."

Sam nods, way more times than he needs to. "And you didn't say anything until now…"

Dean shrugs. "I didn't think I needed to, until I decided to get myself tested and that got me thinking about you and… all your conquests." 

He's teasing Sam, and it succeeds in lightening the tension.

"I almost did have sex with him, actually," Sam confesses as he thinks back to that fateful night at the motel. "But at the last second, I wussed out."

"You didn't answer me back then, wanna tell me now - Why?" Dean is still holding him close, like something precious and fragile.  

"I guess, despite everything, I was still harboring some kind of hope to have you be my… um… _you know_ ," Sam bites his lip, but the heat rising off the tips of his ears is probably giving the rest of it away. Indeed, Dean is smirking already. He loves to see baby brother blush, always has. 

"Your… first?"

Sam hides his face in Dean's neck, nips him there in revenge when Dean chuckles. 

"Well, Sammy, seeing as we still have a few months to go before that can happen, that gives you enough time to get yourself tested too. Isn't that awesome?"

Sam pulls back, and he's not in the mood to be petted into compliance this time. "So we're back to that, are we?"

“Them's the rules. You have to be sixteen first, it’s the age of consent.”  
  
“I _so_ consent man! How many times do I have to tell you? Do you want it in writing? Dean, come on!!”  
  
“Shh… keep your voice down, princess.”   
  
Sam whacks his chest hard and Dean winces. “Stop calling me that! Fucking unbelievable!”  
  
He breaks free then, stomps out the gym and into the showers with Dean still laughing as he goes back to his bench press.  
 

> _**Email draft to Natalie #37 (never sent):** _
> 
> _I managed to give Dean the silent treatment for a whole 24 hours yesterday. That's my record so far. Yep, the big jerk always manages to bring me around. But I have a sneaking suspicion he actually likes to see me a little riled up, it might even turn him on or something. Exciting times ahead, if you get my drift ;)_
> 
> _Maybe it's the 'big brother' part of him you know, always pushing and prodding to get a rise out of me. So guess what, I've decided that's exactly how I should respond too - like a 'little brother' - be the most annoying, pesky, insufferable little brat I can possibly be, see how long he manages to hold out. It's like a game now - of the sexual variety, like competitive cockteasing, a hyper-extended foreplay the objective of which is to see who comes, I mean, blinks first. You're laughing Nat, I can hear you right through my computer screen, but this I promise you - I'm gonna get my big brother to pop my gay sex cherry, and I'm gonna do it before the damn year's out!_
> 
> _So what are_ your _plans for the new year?_

   
_  
************************************  
  
Fargo, North Dakota.  
December 1998 [Eight weeks ago]** _

_************************************** _

   
"Sammy, I swear to God, if you don't get your skinny little ass out of that damn shower right this minute...!!"

Sam hears Dean screaming bloody murder outside the bathroom door and smirks. "And?" He calls back innocently, "you'll do what exactly, brother mine?"

A harrumph and a foot stomp follows and it makes Sam laugh. If Dean knows what buttons to push with Sam, then Sam knows how to get Dean all hot and bothered just as much. He knows how much big brother hates these hour-long hiatuses Sam's been taking oh-so-frequently, not because he's wasting their hot water, but because he knows precisely what Sam's been doing in the shower…

…and he doesn't want Sam doing it alone. 

Sam chuckles and waits for Dean to verbalize another string of threats and insults. They've had several interesting conversations through this door these past few days. He's been looking forward to it all day actually.

Except this time Dean doesn't respond. Instead Sam hears the bedroom door open and furious footsteps in the corridor, moving farther and farther away from Sam. He pouts, tries not to let the disappointment break his resolve. He switches off the water for a bit though, curious to hear why Dean left him alone in the middle of their  little game, naked, dripping, ready to be taken if only the damn fool would be so kind…

He wraps a thin towel around his waist, then quietly slinks out of the bathroom and into the empty bedroom he shares with his brother. He can hear Dean pacing outside, always could recognize his slight and swift gait as opposed to John's heavy one. Dean seems to be on the phone with someone, probably Dad.

"Yes sir, of course, it'd take me two hours tops if I start now. No, Sam's not home yet. I'll come alone. Alright then."

Sam frowns hard. Dean's going out on a hunt alone, and not taking Sam?

// What the hell? //

He yanks the door open urgently and steps out, only to find the corridor deserted and the spot where he thought he'd find Dean empty. He steps out, getting ready to run down the stairs before Dean leaves, when suddenly someone grabs him from behind and forcefully swings him around until his face is planted right into the door from which he'd just emerged. 

"What the- _DEAN_?!?"

Dean sniggers and breathes right into his left ear. "I'm starting to think you're half-mermaid, _brother mine_."

"Fuck off! And that'd be  _merman_ _,_  by the way," Sam shrugs him off but in the struggle his towel comes loose and falls to the carpeted floor around his ankles. He hears Dean's sharp intake of a breath and smirks, putting his hands on his waist and standing up straight, tall, and proud. 

"Like what you see?"

Dean closes his eyes for a moment, but his face is all red and as far as Sam's concerned that evens the score for tonight. "Well too bad, seeing as you got a 'solo job' to run to, I'm just gonna head back to take care of myself. Good luck!!"

He turns around, giving his brother a perfect view of his perfectly rotund bottom. He purposely sways his hips a little as he walks back to the bathroom and under the fat shower head. But he's seen that look on Dean's face before, and knows this is one battle round he's about to win in four, three, two... 

"You're something special, Sam Winchester, you know that?"

Sam smirks, moving forward to make room for his naked brother behind him in the bathtub. Under the hot deluge, Sam hitches his right feet up against a wall, and guides Dean’s soaped up hand down to his anus. "You know what I want."

He won’t settle for less this time and Dean has conceded defeat tonight anyway. Sam lets his head fall back onto Dean’s shoulder, all his weight resting against his brother behind him, and opens his mouth wide to gasp as Dean’s fingers slowly but carefully examine his opening. Starts with one digit and has no trouble pushing through the outer ring muscle, but faces sudden resistance at the inner circle.  
  
“Sammy, you have to relax for me. C’mon baby…”  
  
Sam inhales deeply and tries to lose the tension held in his lower body as Dean’s finger keeps wriggling inside of him. Dean sucks at his neck, his shoulder, kissing softly the sides of his face until Sam goes slack in his arms. At last, the finger breaches through and it feels kinda… strange, and intrusive, having a finger up his ass that isn’t Natalie’s, and isn’t his own. But then it is _Dean’s_ … the thought alone is enough to make him shoot his load instantly.  
  
They continue later in the night after Dad retires to his room and the brothers lock themselves up in theirs. Dean lovingly peels away the younger boy’s PJ bottoms, spreads the spindly legs apart to settle in between them and slicks up his right hand with KY jelly. Through the rest of the night Dean makes finding Sam’s sweet spot his life’s mission and purpose, and works it relentlessly until Sam is biting his fist and pleading for mercy. He licks at Sam’s balls and sucks at his cock and his fingers massaging the prostate feel so excruciatingly delicious, Sam comes another couple of times, then dry-orgasms for the rest of the night.  
  
It soon becomes a nightly ritual… Dean sleeping on his back with his brother on top of him. Sam always ends up throwing one leg and one arm over while Dean keeps an arm wrapped around him nice and smug. Of course, Dean’s hands don’t stay in one place too long… broad, sturdy strokes, upwards and downwards and across, ardently lulling the young boy to sleep.  
  
Sometimes he slips his hand inside Sam’s boxers and cups the little butt… patting and squeezing and drawing circles into the smooth alabaster skin long after Sam is asleep. It'd be several months before Dean will be bold enough to put a finger or two inside, wriggling until he’s situated himself firmly to his satisfaction. And Sam will whimper and open his legs wider, his throbbing orifice clamping down hard around his brother’s digits like he’d never let go.  
  


> _**Email draft to Natalie #121 (never sent):** _
> 
> _My brother’s got magic fingers. Look how careful and detail-oriented he is working on the Impala, or putting stitches into gashes, cleaning out weapons. Playing my body like a friggin’ fiddle. Pun utterly and completely intended.  
>    
>  Last night, he gave me his right thumb to suck on, plugged my ass with two more fingers, and told me to go to sleep! I could only whine pathetically around his thumb gagging my mouth, and my butt kept squirming in his grip that didn’t relent. Think I was in agony for like an hour before I managed to ignore my weeping hard-on and finally fall asleep.  
>    
>  I hope we do it again tonight._

  
  
_*************************************  
** _

_**Fargo, North Dakota.  
** **December 1998 [Seven weeks ago]** _

**_***********************************_  **  
****  
Sam is drooling all over his physics notes.  
  
Thirteen minutes ago he put his head down with intent to take a break, just a teensy little break for a couple of minutes. The next thing he knows, someone’s poking him in the sides and pulling his resisting frame up and away from the table. Sam groans.  
  
“Yeah yeah, to bed with you, Einstein.”  
  
“Huh. I wish,” he mumbles.  
  
Dean scoffs behind him, “At least you got the hair right,” and ruffles to mess it up further.  
  
Sam bats at his hands. “Knock it off, jerk.”  
  
The fifteen-year old tumbles into bed as Dean pulls back the covers to make space for him. Hands clasp around his thighs and tug downward until Sam’s horizontal on his back and Dean is sitting beside him, leaning down to brush his lips against Sam’s.  
  
“Why do you take these stupid honors classes if it’s so much work, geek? Take PE instead.”  
  
Sam catches a faint whiff of grease and it goes straight to his crotch. “Why do you love that stupid car if it’s so much work? Buy a Toyota instead.”  
  
Dean growls, nipping at his nose to avenge his (other) baby and Sam just laughs. Then lifts up his face and Dean knows very well what that means.  
  
“Mmm…” Sam mewls appreciatively. His brother sure can kiss.  
  
Dean’s hands get busy, undoing the drawstrings on his sweatpants and pulling them down with the boxers. Sam kicks them off and keeps his arms wrung around Dean’s neck so he can’t escape his mouth. Dean doesn’t bother with the kid’s t-shirt, pushes his hands under Sam, palming his buttocks with passion and Sam gasps, mouth falling open to draw in necessary breath.  
  
“Dean, please…”  
  
“Of course, baby, of course…”  
  
Sam spies from a corner of his eyes as Dean glances back at the bedroom door, quickly confirming it’s still locked. It nettles, just a bit and only for a second, because in the very next moment, Dean has shimmied down and straddled Sam’s legs, his hands stroking down and around his rib cage, then downwards until they are grasping the slender hips. It starts with little kitten licks on the sensitive head and the underside of his burgeoning cock, and Sam jerks and twitches away only to be pulled back in place. He wheezes, continually surprised by how a single act of stimulation could be both so torturous and pleasurable all at once.  
  
“Ahh!! Stop teasing Dean… you’re always such a… oh… fuck!!!”  
  
Dean sucks in the bulbous head then, flattening his tongue at the tip and rubbing back and forth until Sam is writhing, trying to escape the over-sensitization. He bites his lip just in time to prevent his hoarse screams from bringing the senior hunter in the house running up their stairs.  
  
“You were saying?”  
  
Sam’s about to tell Dean to get back to work when the older boy lowers his head and starts to deep-throat him inch after pulsating inch. Sam wheezes, his eyes rolling back in his head and his stomach muscles incredibly taut as Dean sucks the very life out of his dick. Dean somehow manages to insert one of his fingers into his mouth as well, pistoning it in and out along with Sam’s shaft. When the index finger is wet and ready he runs it down behind Sam’s balls and across the perineum before wedging itself into the gaping hole. Sam grunts and writhes under Dean’s weight as much as he can, inviting the intrusion with open legs. As if he needed the extra stimulation at all… he was already on the verge of coming and coming so freaking hard…  
  
Dean pulls away.  
  
“Wha-h…?? Dea-h??? Wha-h???”  
  
Dean smirks then and pats his flank. “Turn over. On your hands and knees.”  
  
“Oh God, are you gonna…”  
  
“Shhh, just do it.”  
  
Sam is stunned, both excited and freaking out because, hands and knees could only mean… at least he hoped it would mean…  
  
His brain shuts down then because something wet, and slimy and… wet, is licking at his painfully throbbing entrance. His voice box must be paralyzed because his mouth is open and he’s pretty sure he should be saying something, protesting maybe? Hell no, never because… this feels, this feels…  
  
“Ooh… oh God! Dean!”

"Guess I found a reason to not mind your hour-long showers just before bed after all, Sammy…"  
  
Sam buries his flushed hot face in his arms and even though he cleans himself thoroughly, it feels kinda dirty. And even though it feels kinda dirty, he can’t help but spread his legs further and push his ass back up into Dean’s face, letting his brother’s tongue skillfully open him up. It swirls around the sphincter that contracts rhythmically and completely beyond Sam’s control, catching around the tongue happily every time it dips inside. Dean's hands pull his cheeks apart and he presses in deeper and deeper until he can’t anymore and then he pulls out only to dive back in, and he does it again and again sending all of Sam’s senses awry. Not that he is complaining, fact Sam is utterly and completely in sensory heaven.  
  
One of Sam’s hands goes under him to fist himself just as one of Dean’s hands quickly unzips himself and starts to jerk himself off. Finally Sam gasps painfully and lets go, surrendering to a full-body orgasm that wracks his frame from head to toe. Dean patiently keeps licking and licking until his brother is really and truly depleted, and his knees buckle down to the bed. He continues to indulge Dean Junior until he’s also grunting and biting his lip and coming like he’s never come before.  
  
When Dean collapses beside Sam, the younger boy’s lanky arms automatically go around him, wrapping the two of them close, faces pressed into each other. It may not have been the _main event_ , but damn it was hot.  
  
“How’s the jaw?”  
  
Dean chuckles, continues to breathe deeply, stretching his facial muscles. “Best kind of workout there is.”  
 

> _**Email draft to Natalie #43 (never sent):** Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean…_

   
*********************************  
  
Fargo, North Dakota.  
January 1999 [Five weeks ago]**

 *********************************  
**  
Allie keeps calling on Dean’s cell phone. Sam grumbles and mutters and heaves heavy-duty soap operatic sighs, but nothing stops Dean from taking her calls.  
  
“Breaking up is an _art_ , Sammy. You can’t always be an asshole. Especially not to chicks like Allie ‘cause, well… she might try to slash your tires or somethin’. Just sit back and witness a master at work. Okay?”  
  
_Nooo_. Not okay. It’s bad enough Sylvia keeps making woeful fuck-me-now eyes from across the street whenever she sees Dean, and finds an excuse to come to their house at least twice a week. There’s only so many casseroles (with meat) she could bring to the ‘motherless house’, right. Right?  
  
“Sam?" John's voice bellows from the living room one fine day while Dean's away at work. "What the hell is _that_ on my truck?”  
  
Sam looks up from the knife he was sharpening and out of the window, following Dad’s line of sight to their driveway. He can’t believe it. The bitch has actually plonked her ass right on top of the Sierra Grande. Not Sylvia… Allie.  
  
// Psycho stalker slut bitch!! //  
  
Dad is so not happy. He talks to her but she refuses to move until Dean gets home. Even John can’t intimidate her into leaving, although personally Sam thinks his father didn’t try enough. What good is a Beretta if you won’t use it when it’s needed?  
  
“Did Dean tell her about our new place?”  
  
Sam shrugs, he doesn’t think so but he can’t be sure. John’s eyebrows go up. “I don’t think he would either. Let her be then. Looks like she’s hunter material alright.”  
  
// Great. Even Dad likes her now. //  
  
Sam does _not_ wanna know what Dean says to her, of course, why would he? Besides they walk too far out of earshot for him to hear anything. And when Dean comes in after telling Allie… off (hopefully), what’s the first thing he should have done? Come upstairs and done some serious sucking up to Sam, right? After all, Sam was the one traumatized from having to look at her stupid blonde locks and long anemic face and decidedly female parts (whatever he could see of them) every time he glanced out his window. Instead Dean spends ten minutes explaining stuff to Dad, another ten in the shower and yet another twenty helping Dad with dinner. All this time Sam seethes and pouts and works himself up into a frenzy of fury and envy and more than a little bit of insecurity.  
  
He gets a chance to express his own brand of teenage angst (as John calls it) when he's called down for dinner. _Obviously_ , he refuses. Lies face down and diagonally across his bed reading his new book when Dean walks in and quietly stands leaning against the door frame for a few seconds. Sam ignores him.  
  
“Bitch-mode alert?”  
  
“Jerk-shield activated. Go away.”  
  
Dean snorts, doing exactly the opposite. Comes over and lies right next to Sam just as diagonally, except he is more _on_ the bed than off it. Tries peeking into the book, “What you readin’?”  
  
“Don’t you have a _fangirl_ somewhere to coddle or… hey! Give that ba…”  
  
Sam doesn’t get to complete as Dean flings the book to the side, grabs Sam by his biceps and plants his mouth squarely onto his. Sam whimpers in protest as loud as possible with a closed mouth. Has to admit, he both loves and hates how easily Dean can melt all his defenses away, how helpless and possessed he feels every time Dean takes him in his arms. Sam surrenders the fight, letting his mouth fall open so the tongues can talk it over. Minutes later Sam forgets all about why he’d been pitching a fit in the first place.  
  
“Why do I need a girl, when I got you?”  
  
“Is that supposed to placate me or insult me?”  
  
“Shut up with the big words and come here.”  
  
Dean rolls onto his back and pulls Sam on top so he can rest his head on his brother’s chest, strategically placing his ear just where he can hear the steady, hypnotic rhythm of Dean’s heart go thump, thump, thump. Sam closes his eyes and relaxes into Dean’s arms, letting the older boy slip his warm hands under Sam’s t-shirt and rub his back lovingly.  
  
“Allie’s gone. She ain’t coming back, kiddo.”  
  
Sam opens his eyes, but can’t think of anything to say. He didn’t want to act like a jealous bitchy boyfriend but the fact is, he’s still always wary, and more than a little scared.  
  
// There is so much I am not. So much I can’t give you. //  
  
“You’re everything I want.”  
  
Sam sighs, burying his little smile in Dean’s black undershirt.  
  
// My brother the mind reader. //  
  
“If anything, I should be the one worried. You and all those pretty little things surrounding you at school…”  
  
Sam looks up just in time to put a finger on Dean’s lips, effectively shutting him up. “You’re everything _I_   want.”  
  
Dean softly pecks at the finger on his lips, before pulling Sam down and they kiss again, slow and languid and all consuming until lips swell and jaws ache and Sam’s stomach unclenches at last. Dean slips his hands into the boy's baggy jeans, massaging Sam’s butt. Their erections swell against each other and Sam starts to moan into Dean’s mouth before he suddenly pulls away.

“Of course if maybe we were… like… _doing it_ , I’d feel more reassured. You know?”  
  
Dean narrows his eyes and smirks, “Haven't we been doing it all, pretty much?”  
  
“Everything except what I want and you know it. It’s been a whole month, Dean, how long are you planning to make me wait exactly?”  
  
Dean bites his lip but says nothing, offers no clues as to why he's still hesitating to go the last mile. Abruptly he rolls Sam over until he’s on the bed, picks up his book and hands it back to him. “What is this? I, Claudius?”  
  
Sam sighs and pouts, resigning himself to the change in subject. Shifts sideways to rest his head on the pillow, buries his nose in the book again. “Fictional autobiography of Caesar’s grandson. The author who wrote this claimed Claudius came in his dream and demanded he write this book about him.”  
  
Dean snorts as he sits up, folds the sleeves on his grey flannel shirt. “Great idea, think maybe after I go, I’ll haunt Stephen King’s ass until he writes one about me.”  
  
Sam makes his gag-face that just makes Dean laugh as he gets off the bed. “Come on down, dinner’s ready.”  
  
Sam sits up then. “You wanna know who I’ll haunt to write me a book? Jackie Collins. She could write me up so I won’t be remembered as the sexy macho hunter…” Dean is already out the door so Sam yells for his voice to follow him out, “… with no frikkin’ sex life!”  
  


> _**Email draft to Natalie #51 (never sent):** _
> 
> _Dean got me a pager today. It’s cool and stuff, but it’s such a pain to carry around. I keep forgetting it, in the library or at Starbucks or in my locker. But Dean may have finally hit upon the perfect way to make me hang onto it. He keeps constantly paging me, about everything and nothing at all, reminding me that it’s there. The messages I get in the middle of class are especially pointless and utterly moronic to say the least.  
>    
>  14:22 “Come straight back home. I’m making roast.”  
>  15:17 “Fonz marathon on TV!! You defy the Fonz??… No veggies.”  
>  15:55 “Right. Roast is toast. Pizza tonight.”  
>    
>  But of late he's starting to send me more NC-17 messages if you know what I mean. More teasing I know, he obviously gets off on it! Ah who am I kidding, I love it too :) Something tells me this sexual text messaging could be like a thing, you know? _

  
  
*********************************  
  
Gallatin Forest, Montana.  
January 1999 [Four weeks ago] **

 ***********************************  
  
“You can’t be fucking serious!”  
  
Sam smirks, boy was it fun to see the tables turn. He shrugs out of Dean’s grip and stalks ahead on the forest trail leaving Dean behind. “Fair’s fair, dude. You don’t get to touch me. Period.”  
  
// So you wanna play huh? Fine, big brother. Two can play this game. //  
  
Sam smirks as he hears Dean finally get over his shock and pick up pace to catch up with him. The look of complete befuddlement on his handsome face is so freaking adorable, he just wants to grab him and kiss him and…  
  
// Ahem. Control yourself, Winchester. //  
  
“So, what? Nothing? Like nothing at all?”  
  
“Nothing at all.”  
  
“What about kissing?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Showers?”  
  
“Hell no.”  
  
“You can’t go to sleep without my hand up your…”  
  
“Oh please!” Sam laughs nervously, blushing already. “Stop deluding yourself. And you’re right… age of consent is sixteen. We should wait before doing anything at all, right?”  
  
Did Dean just whine? Sam steals a sideways glance at his brother and bites his lips hard. Wouldn’t do to start giggling like a girl right now. John appears a little ways ahead of them and Sam runs to catch up with him. Dean continues to frown but grudgingly follows.  
  
The day is spent hiking and camping in the woods, and searching for the special herb plants they needed to mix up antidotes for a chimera’s bite.  
  
“Camellia… Camellia…” Dean mumbles to himself. Hunting for plants isn’t exactly his forte and he is bored out of his freaking skull. Sam on the other hand doesn’t mind the nature walk, and he smirks to see Dean throw forlorn glances his way every now and then.  
  
“You know I once dated a girl called Camellia.”  
  
“Give it up, Perv-boy.”  
  
Dean actually growls. Sam turns away and grins widely himself. This is going to be so much fun.  
  
Day three, it’s not fun anymore. Sam is _aching_ to touch Dean, to be touched by Dean. And damn it Dean was right, he keeps tossing and turning for hours before he falls asleep without his big brother behind him. Dean’s initial confusion and unhappiness is slowly giving way to gleeful cockiness because he too realizes that Sam’s just as miserable. And he is now doing everything he can to tempt and tease the younger brother until he gives up the sham.  
  
He brushes his body against Sam’s every chance he gets, sending delicious tingles of want through Sam’s spine. Hands bump into hands ‘by mistake’ on the dinner table. The bathroom stays unlocked and the manipulative bastard that he is, Dean sings at the top of his lungs under the shower…  
  
// Fucker numbnuts, Dean!!! You think your sexy siren act is enough to break me? //  
  
He could be right about that.  
  
And why the hell did they have to spar tonight, of all fucking nights? Dad stands in one corner of their motel room, sipping on that dreadful thing he calls coffee while Dean and Sam circle each other in the middle of their makeshift dojo.  
  
“Get on with it.”  
  
Dean smirks loftily. Sam doesn’t understand when and how exactly the balance had shifted over to his brother’s side, and can only scowl back.  
  
“Uhh, Dad? Sorry I forgot. Some guy called and asked for you while you were out restocking ammo. Said his name was Rufus something?”  
  
“And you’re telling me this now?”  
  
“It was only like twenty minutes ago…”  
  
John glares at Dean before he starts to walk out.  
  
“I asked if it was urgent, he said not really.”  
  
John just yells as he exits, “Carry on. I’ll be right back.”  
  
Soon as he’s gone, Sam narrows his eyes at Dean. “You did that on purpose.”  
  
Dean smirks. “Just looking out for ya, Sammy. Give you the opportunity to have your _wicked way_ with me. I know you want to.”  
  
And he drops his gaze briefly to indicate Sam’s crotch, which is starting to tent already. Yikes. Stupid, incompetent sweatpants.  
  
“Are we still waiting until my sixteenth birthday?”  
  
“Yeah. We are.”  
  
Aargh! Fine. Whatever.  
  
Sam charges at Dean full-force but instead of fighting they’re kissing, lips smashing violently into each other. Grabby hands everywhere, pulling and pinching and biting and pawing like a couple of untamed tiger cubs. Abruptly Dean pulls back out of the kiss to flash his proud, victorious grin again.  
  
“Knew you couldn’t stay away too long.”  
  
“Excuse me? You’re the one who…”  
  
“Not a gracious loser, are you, princess?”  
  
Sam’s eyes narrow down to a couple of lethal slits.  
 

> _**Email draft to Natalie #54 (never sent):** _
> 
> _It’s been thirteen hours since we cancelled our self-enforced hiatus (okay fine,_ my _self-enforced hiatus but it’s really his fault!) and we still haven’t been able to do anything. Dean doesn’t like me very much right now, gets all I’m-gonna-kill-you-so-slowly every time he looks at me. He’s also still slumped over and walking funny, whenever he’s brave enough to try it, that is.  
>    
>  I really shouldn’t have kneed him so hard in the balls. _

  
*********************************  
  
Fargo, North Dakota  
January 1999 [Three-point-five weeks ago] **

*********************************  
****  
** Sam paces back and forth in the living room, guess it’s something he's picked up from Dean. It is well after midnight when Dean finally comes home, supporting Dad as he limps into the house grudgingly. At least he's not leaving a trail of blood behind him this time.  
  
“Dad!”  
  
And that is all he manages to get out before John Winchester nails him with that patented ice-cold stare. The one that says: “back off”, “zip it”, “quit acting like a stupid kid”. No hysterics allowed in this household, so what if someone is always getting nearly killed at least once a month. All the more reason to get used to it by now, right? Wrong. Every time this happens, Sam dies a little more inside. He doesn’t know how long he could possibly keep this up.  
  
“It’s okay, Sammy. Go back to sleep.”  
  
John pushes Dean’s fussing hands away, too proud to accept any more help from the nineteen-year old. “It’s late. You should go too.”  
  
“But, Dad…”  
  
“That’s an order.”  
  
Dean pauses mid-step, watches as John drags himself to the glass cabinet and pulls his bottle of Jack out. The message is loud and clear - _dismissed_.  
  
Sam sits on his own bed, knees pulled up into the circle of his arms and against his chest as he watches Dean shed his clothes and walk into the bathroom without a backward glance. At least he doesn’t lock the door. It is an assurance Sam has come to expect and long for, the assurance that Dean will never block him out. That no matter what other habits he picks up from their superhero father, stonewalling Sam would never be one of them.  
  
He waits for his brother to be done with a quick shower, done standing at the counter in his fresh sweats, hair matted and pulled back from his face, staring at himself in the mirror, wondering what he could tell himself to make it  _his_  fault. Because that’s what Dean does, when things go wrong… he always finds a way to blame himself.  
  
“Dean…”  
  
His voice is small, tiny even to his own ears. Something about Dean in this mood… it scares him. Dean looks at him briefly as walks toward his bed (not Sam’s), and softly smiles. “Quit chewing your lips, Sammy. He’s okay.”  
  
// It’s not just him I’m worried about, Rambo. //  
  
Sam unfurls himself, gets up to go to Dean if he won’t come to Sam. But the look in his brother’s eyes stops him cold in his tracks.  
  
“Not now.”  
  
Sam doesn’t know how he manages to twist around and fall into his own bed after that. He stays on his side facing away so Dean won’t see his wimpy tears. Tears of fear of what almost happened, tears of frustration because this will happen again. And again.

Tears of loneliness, because he could really use his brother’s arms around him tonight.  
  
“Patience, princess.” Dean’s whispering rasp of a voice floats to him in the dark. Sam stays numb, not taking the bait for once.  
  
An hour passes, maybe more. Sam shivers from the cold, acutely aware of his wide-awake brother in the other bed, just as he’s sure Dean knows Sam isn’t sleeping either. In the silence, the door lock quietly clicks open, startling Sam before he freezes in his place. Why didn’t Dean lock the door tonight?  
  
John slowly pushes the door open, limps in as quietly as he can manage with his injuries and his drunken sluggishness. The sons’ act is bought as he walks to the middle of the two beds and crouches beside one of them… probably Dean’s. How long he sits there, watching his boys sleep, actually probably just Dean… Sam can't be sure. When John finally leaves and the door closes behind him, Sam lets go of the breath he’s holding and gets a nearly identical response from the other bed. He turns over to face his brother, just as he knows Dean is turning towards him.  
  
“You knew?”  
  
“He always does that, after one of us has just given him the scare of his life.”  
  
Eyes latch onto eyes in the dim light, holding each other accountable. Dean looks utterly exhausted tonight. It must have been one of those jobs, Sam guesses. One where the civilian casualties pile up so high that the victory of getting the big bad monster ultimately means very little. 

Sam sighs, wondering if he should say it. Doesn’t think Dean would appreciate the sentiment too much after what's happened tonight. But maybe Dad would feel better tomorrow and then maybe Dean would also lighten up enough to…  
  
“Sleep now, Sammy.”  
  
He mutely nods and turns away again, swallowing the words riding the tip of his tongue. He's not usually one to cook or bake or even step inside the kitchen to be honest. That's Dean's thing; all Sam can do is heat up soup. But he toiled all day while his family was away hunting a chupacabra, to make a cherry pie (Dean's favorite) that sits under his bed and will likely be ant-food by morning. Of course that's the least of their concerns right now.   
 

> _**Email from Natalie:** _
> 
> _Hi there, Sammy-boy! Long time no news. Big brother's been keeping you busy looks like ;)_
> 
> _So what did you guys do for Dean's birthday?_

 

_*********************************  
  
Cat Creek, Montana  
January 1999 [Three weeks ago] ** _

_*********************************** _

****  
Sam leans back in his uncomfortable steel chair, staring at the revolving clothes inside a washer at the Laundromat. It’s practically hypnotic. The back of his head still hurts from the hunt last night but it’s a dull throb that he’s pretty much used to at this point. Dean walks up with his own armload of dirty (read: bloodied) clothes, sets them beside Sam. Not once does he look away from his little brother’s face.  
  
Not once does Sam turn to look back at him.  
  
“When you gonna stop being a bitch about this?”  
  
Sam grits his teeth. “When you guys stop being jerks, that’s when.”  
  
“So now you’re mad at me too?”  
  
Sam stands up, looks at Dean baring all the frustration he feels inside. “Why do you always take his side? Why couldn’t you just have my back for once, huh?”  
  
Dean’s face is blank again, except for that mask he wears when things go really south, airbrushing his true sentiments away. “You were wrong. Dad was right. Period.”  
  
Sam scoffs, crosses his arms and turns away. “Sure. Dad’s _always_ right.”  
  
Dean grabs his arm then, twists just enough to make Sam turn back towards his brother. His voice drops to an angry whisper when he speaks. “Dad gave you an order, Sammy. You were supposed to send up a flare if you saw it. Not take off running after it without calling us for backup first!”  
  
Sam hisses back with equal vehemence. “And let it get away? I thought you wanted me to be a hunter so that’s what I'm doing, Dean. What the hell do you want from me?”  
  
“I want you to follow his fucking orders! How hard can that possibly be?”  
  
“Well excuse me for not being Daddy’s obedient little toy soldier and for using my own head once in a while…”  
  
He should have stopped. He knew he shouldn’t have even started in the first place. And now it’s too late. Dean’s face remains a mask, only hardens more but his eyes speak volumes of the hurt Sam has just inflicted.  
  
“De…”  
  
He turns and walks away. Probably thinking there’s a couple more shirts he can find somewhere in his duffel to wash.  
  
Sam wants to curl up on the floor and bawl his eyes out. He’s not felt this ashamed and disgusted with himself in a long time. He’s also never spoken this way to Dean before. Sure they’ve had their spats and some lasted longer and got far bitterer than others. But he’d never lashed out with something he’s always known would hurt Dean the most.  
  
// What the fuck is wrong with you? //  
  
Dean is eerily quiet on the drive back from Cat Creek. They wrapped up the hunt well, despite the initial hiccups and while Dad never really holds a grudge too long, the tension between the two brothers still lingers, is still impenetrable.  
  
“Dean…” Sam starts with a voice that’s so small he barely recognizes it as his own. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me…”  
  
The next few moments are filled with nothing but the not so soft chords of Blue Oyster Cult, and the steady rumbling of the Impala around them. Dean looks up once briefly to check for Dad’s truck in his rear-view mirror.  
  
“What you see and scoff at as an order is really just his way to make sure that even in the middle of a dangerous mission, _you_ stay safe.”  
  
Sam swallows, hard, relieved that Dean was finally talking. Even if he was lecturing, hell he’d take furious yelling and cursing too if that’s what it took to make Dean stop acting like Sam didn’t exist. “I know. And I’m really sorry for what I said about…”  
  
Dean interrupts him rudely. “If you can’t agree with what he does, the least you can do is respect him because he’s your Dad. He wants you to be a hunter, Sam, but more than that he needs you to be his son, preferably a live one.”  
  
“…”  
  
“Just like I have to be both brother and son, Sammy. I can’t choose one. I need to be both.”  
  
_Please don’t make me choose_ , is what Dean doesn’t say, but Sam hears him anyway.  
  
That night, Sam stays curled up on his side, on his bed, facing away from the door. His hands keep shaking for some reason, and he can’t seem to get warm despite the several layers of clothes under several more layers of blankets. When Dean walks in, Sam clamps down and pretends to be asleep. It doesn’t work.  
  
Dean pushes the covers aside and wraps himself around his little brother instead. Within minutes, the trembling stops and the boy warms up enough to sleep like a dead man.

>   
>  _**Email draft to Natalie #60 (never sent):** _
> 
> _I wonder if I could convince Dean to come away with me. Dean graduated with good scores, we could both apply to colleges together. Or he could open up his own garage like he once told me he wanted to, of course he was really drunk then. And we could be safe, we could be normal, we could stop running at last._
> 
> _But then, who would look out for Dad if Dean leaves? If the question is who I love more – my father or my brother, or my lover, then I just don’t have an answer. And if the question is – who does_ Dean _love more? … I guess I don’t want to be asking that question at all.  
>  _
> 
>  

_*********************************  
  
Fargo, North Dakota.  
February 1999 [Last week]   
** _

_***********************************_  
  
Sam walks out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. Heads over to his dresser and starts looking for underwear, when his scouring fingers brush against something large and solid under the fabrics. He bites his lip, doesn’t need to see it to know what it is. Pulls it out anyway, ever so slowly, and gazes longingly at it.  
  
~ For Sam. With Love, Natalie. ~  
  
Oh well, seeing as Dean is in no mood to meet his _particular_ needs for another goddamn _year_ , maybe Sam could make use of this little number that, he knows from first hand experience, is extremely capable of blowing his mind. And that's the fortuitous moment Dean chooses to walk into the bedroom.  
  
“Come on down, Sammy. Your turn today to do the dish… what?”  
  
Sam shakes his head, hiding his right hand holding the object behind his back. “Nothin’!”  
  
Dean narrows his eyes, and starts walking up towards Sam. “Your face is all red. What you got there?”  
  
“Uhh…” but before Sam can think of an appropriate response, Dean’s already covered the rest of the distance to stand right in Sam’s face. Like lightning his arms shoot out as he grabs Sam by his biceps and pulls him flush against his own chest.  
  
“Oww, Dean!” Sam tries to protest but there’s nothing he can do except lean into his brother’s embrace and let Dean’s hand travel back down to the one hand he’s been holding behind him uselessly. He closes his eyes, cheeks burning hotly when Dean finally wrenches his grip loose and takes the ginormous pink dildo out of his hand.  
  
“You again.” Dean glares at the sex toy like it was his competitor for Sam’s affections. Arch nemesis more like.  
  
Sam bites back a tiny grin and pulls away from Dean. “I was thinking, if you’re not gonna do it until May, then maybe…”  
  
Dean grasps at his biceps, dragging him so close their noses nearly collide. His fingernails dig into the fifteen year old’s flesh painfully and Sam can see the veins in Dean’s neck straining with fury.

“Here’s the deal, princess.” He whispers, his voice laden with envy and lust. “You are not to put that thing, or anything else inside you without my explicit permission. Got that?”  
  
Sam’s breathing is ragged, not just because of the proximity to Dean or even the scent of his cologne commingling with that of his leather jacket. Sam has never, ever, _ever_ seen this side of his boyfriend/brother before. “A-And w-what if I do?”  
  
Sam hisses as Dean’s fingers dig deeper, harsher, sending tiny bursts of electricity shooting through his blood, congregating between his legs. Dean smiles, but there is something devilish and fervent in his gaze. His warm breaths ghost over Sam’s lips and nose and Sam feels a terrible urge to close his eyes, except he doesn’t want to miss a moment of this… this Dean before him.  
  
“If you do… then this I promise you, baby boy, you’re not going to sit comfortably for a very, very, long time.”  
  
Sam can only shudder in response, and then Dean captures his mouth in a ravenous kiss. Sam tastes apple pie and pretzels, and the mint from Dean’s favorite gum before Dean roughly pulls away, leaving Sam standing in the same spot… leaking inside his towel, trembling from head to toe.  
  


> _**Email draft to Natalie #67 (never sent):** _
> 
> _I made two very interesting discoveries today. One, I’m a kinky sonofabitch. And two, I finally know how to put an end to this age-of-consent nonsense. The solution's been staring me right in the face all this time - every time I open the browser to write emails that you - my dearest Natalie - will never read. Think about it, if Dean can get so insanely jealous of an inanimate object, how is he going to react to a real person? Like another cheerleader, maybe?_

 

*******************************

**(tbc)**

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last part of the epilogue and this story. More underage sexing comin' through! And POV shifts back and forth in this one too. I'm happy to finally wrap this up, thank you for sticking with me and hope you enjoyed reading this!

**Fargo, North Dakota.  
Present Day, February 1999**

*********************************  
  
  
Dean waits outside the school gates for Sammy at the end of the day. He left work early; Mondavi's usually cool with it even though Dean does ask him for a lot of time off. Today it isn't for a job though, more because he just feels like it. Before leaving he'd beeped Sam to let him know big brother's coming to pick him up.

While he waits, Dean indulges the kids that hover around his baby but on a strictly ‘look don’t touch’ policy. He smirks proudly and keeps one eye craned at the doors to make sure he doesn't miss Sasquatch-junior. Kid's been growing like a weed lately. And to think that not so long ago he was being taunted with names like midget, smurf, shortstop and pipsqueak and okay Dean may have suggested a couple of those himself. Life's definitely changed for the two of them pretty dramatically in the past few months. Dean's smirk grows deeper in his nostalgia. But when finally he spots Sam, it vanishes to nothing.  
  
Sam has a girl on his arm, a really, _really_ hot girl. In a cheerleader outfit. On his arm!

They are talking, and smiling, and he is touching her hair, pushing a couple of stray locks behind her ear. And she is touching him back, that bitch!

Who the hell is she? When did Sam meet her? How? Where? Why? Man, and she had to be a fucking cheerleader, Dean grumbles and curses to himself. He straightens up and waits for them to get closer and for Sam to realize that Dean is here. Right here, watching this… this blatant display of…  
  
Wait a minute.  
  
// Sammy, you little sly bitch. //  
  
The smirk tries to return but Dean clamps it down, at least for the time being. Okay. He can play along, for a bit. They've been at this little teasing game of theirs for almost two months now and looks like little brother just decided to turn it up a notch. Dean can't help but feel a little proud, even as he suppresses an urge to walk over and yank that girl's hand off of _his_  Sammy's neck. 

Aw hell, he shakes it off and leans back against the Impala again. Today's about to turn into a whole lot more fun than he thought.

*******

Sam comes out of the school, chatting animatedly with his new friend Roxanne. They are in a study group together and she’s sort of nice in that she isn’t actually mean to geeky new kids like Sam. And she also happens to be a cheerleader, could it possibly be any more perfect?  
  
It was all planned and executed flawlessly, soon as he Dean paged him to let him know he'd be waiting outside for him when school gets out. Sam told Roxy he wanted to show his big brother that he isn’t a geeky sociopath like he thinks he is. And so would Roxy help him out please, pretty please? In exchange, he’s going to do her homework for two weeks, which, of course, is the real deal clincher.  
  
The look on Dean’s face is precious. His eyes are narrowed and his chest is heaving a bit and Sam can see he’s just dying to start firing questions (or his Colt). Miraculously (and to Sam's slight disappointment) Dean manages to clamp down on it until Roxy's gone and the brothers are piled up into the Impala, driving down Main street towards their part of town.   
  
“So who’s the girl?”

// Gotcha. //   
  
“Who, Roxanne? Oh, she's just a friend.”  
  
“ _Just_  a friend?”  
  
Sam bites a grin back and looks at Dean. “Jealous, Dean?”  
  
Dean smirks back. “You’re doing this on purpose.”  
  
// Duh, of course! And it’s up to you to make me stop you fool. //  
  
“Doing what on purpose?”  
  
“This! You! Hanging out with fucking cheerleaders again!”  
  
“Okay, now you’re just being paranoid. There is no fucking of cheerleaders anymore, Dean. At least, not yet…”  
  
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”  
  
“Well, May is still four months away and you can’t possibly expect me to guarantee that nothing will ever happen for the whole of that duration. Boys will be boys, right Dean? Being celibate doesn’t come easy to everybody, especially not to young, virile sixteen- I'm sorry, fifteen-year old's like me.”  
  
Dean squints his eyes at Sam once before looking back towards the road. Sam is practically vibrating in his seat, giddy with anticipation of what his brother is going to say (or do) next.  
  
“You know what, Sammy? I… uhhh… thank you.”  
  
// Excuse me? //

“Thank me? For what?”  
  
Dean heaves a huge sigh of what seems to be relief and flashes his wide toothy grin at his little brother. “Thank you for bringing this up yourself. I’m so glad we have reached this understanding, Sammy. I'm sorry - _Sam_."

Sam narrows his eyes, this does not seem to be leading to the epic momentous victory he was hoping for. 

"So okay, now you can go ahead and date cheerleaders all you want, and I can start chasing skirts at bars again. Maybe even call up Allie, and Sylvia, and hey what's her name... uh, Cindy from the Laundromat! Think they even have a legal term for this kind of arrangement - you know, like, an open relationship.”  
  
You’d think the rage would make all the blood drain out of Sam's face, instead it just rushes up to turn his face into a flaming inferno. For a whole ten seconds he doesn’t know what to say. It's like all his worst fears about his relationship with Dean coming true. 

In the meantime, Dean pulls into their street and starts slowly rolling towards the new Winchester house.  
  
“So that’s your solution to this problem - an open relationship?”  
  
“Hey, I didn't know it was a mutual problem until you brought it up, kiddo. And you know it’s my responsibility as a big brother to solve all my baby brother’s problems so…”  
  
And Sam's nodding his head again, more than he really needs to. “Oh, you’re such an asshole, Dean.”  
  
That’s the moment the car comes to a stop into their driveway and Sam pushes his door open to stalk away from the house.  
  
Dean laughs. “Sam! Sammy, wait!!”  
  
“I’m going for a walk. Don’t wait up.”  
  
Dean is still chortling when he gets out of the car and locks it behind him. “You going to see Roxanne again?”  
  
“Fuck you!”  
  
Sam yells, beyond outraged and more than a little embarrassed because damn it this is not how it was supposed to go down. Dean was supposed to capitulate, not make Sam even more miserable…  
  
A hand closes around his arm and yanks him around with substantial force. “Come here you…”  
  
“Let me go if you don’t want your balls in a traction for the rest of the month.”  
  
Dean laughs, “Hey you’re the one who started it! Flaunting a hot cheerleader on your arm to get me all worked up? Did you really think I wouldn't know what you were doing?”  
  
Of course Sam knew his big brother would figure it out eventually - it's not like he had any intention to go through with it with Roxanne. He just didn't expect Dean to say the things he did and resurface the feelings of inadequacy Sam lives with, day in and day out. 

“I bet you wish it was real, don’t you? That I’d get out of the way, give you a hall pass so you can go back to bed-hopping with your stupid bar sluts again!”  
  
Dean huffs, suddenly not looking so happy with how far this has gone himself. “Okay that’s it. You wanna pitch a fit, princess? Let’s take it inside.”  
  
Sam struggles to free himself, “I’m not going anywhere with you. Let me go! Dean, stop it!”  
  
Sam really shouldn’t have pushed his brother so far, ‘cause damn he’s fast. In a flash, Dean bends down and hoists his brother up over one shoulder. Then ignoring Sam’s screaming and pounding on his back, Dean turns around to casually walk back into the house.  
  
“Dean, put me down!! I hate you, damn it put me down!!”  
  
Dean clasps his arms around Sam’s thighs so he can’t kick too much and would have probably loved to smack that wiggling little ass if Mrs. Biaginni hadn’t been standing out in her lawn watering her roses.  
  
“Oh hey, Mrs. Biaginni. Thanks for the lasagna. Again.”  
  
Sam freezes and shuts up, trying to hide behind Dean’s back from their friendly neighbor, Mrs. Biaginni. Of course there’s no point, because she can see him hanging off of Dean’s shoulder perfectly.  
  
“Hey, Dean. I see you boys horsing around again?”  
  
“Ah it’s nothing. Just a little fore… I mean fooling around, heh. I’m supposed to be babysitting Sammy while Dad’s away and he’s giving me a…  _hard_  time, see?”  
  
Sam winces, not missing the near slips and the deliberate slips and damn it why are these things always happening to him? Rosa chuckles in response and waves them goodbye.  
  
“Okay. You better behave and listen to your big brother now, Sam. Capisci?”  
  
Sam punches Dean in his back viciously, glad for the small relief that Rosa couldn’t actually see his flaming red face. Dean grunts in pain but responds on Sam’s behalf who clearly wasn’t going to, himself.

“Capisci. Capisci. See you around, Mrs. Biaginni. Oh and do say hi to Sylvia for me!”  
  
That earns him another ferocious jab but Dean just sucks it up and walks into their house, closing the door behind him.  
  
“Put me down.”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Where you taking me?”  
  
“Upstairs.”  
  
“What fucking for?”  
  
“You’ll find out soon enough.”  
  
Sam struggles and whines all the way up the stairs until Dean reaches the bedroom and dumps him onto his bed unceremoniously. Sam huffs and curses and props himself on his elbows, hot tears starting to prick at the back of his eyes.  
  
“You’re such a jerk!! No more games, Dean. You don’t get to keep me hanging anymore. If you don’t want me, just fucking say it! I can take the truth, you know! Just tell me I don’t do it for you. I’m too fat or too thin or too tall or too fucking ugly and you just don’t want to – mmmmpfh!!”  
  
Sam doesn’t get to the end of his rant, his words and his high-pitched shrieking and all his dripping tears, swallowed whole by Dean’s mouth covering his. Dean lowers himself to the bed, engulfing his little brother in his arms and continues to kiss him passionately. Sam tells himself he should resist, but for the life of him he can’t remember why. The tension of a bowstring that was contained in his body only seconds ago evaporates into thin air and Sam is yielding… falling back into the pillows under the weight of his brother pushing him down, and he goes where he is led and to hell with everything else.  
  
“For an IQ of 165, you can be really dumb sometimes, you know that?”  
  
Sam isn’t given a chance to respond because Dean’s lips are crashing down on his again. Dean’s big hands cup the sides of his face, lifting his chin to better angle his tongue inside Sam’s mouth. He tastes his molars, licks his gums, teases the insides of Sam’s mouth and Sam just moans with exquisite contentment. It’s when breathing becomes absolutely necessary that Dean pulls away and starts to unbutton Sam’s denim jacket, done up all the way to his neck, nerd that he is. And that’s when Sam stiffens.  
  
“Dean,” unsure, and hesitant because… Sam doesn’t want to be left feeling incomplete (inadequate) again.  
  
Dean looks into his little brother’s large limpid eyes, and his heart just melts into a puddle of mush. “Aw man… it’s okay, Sammy. Shh…”  
  
His hands return to the boy’s face, brushing back strands of hair from his eyes. Kissing the dimpled cheeks and nose and temple again and again. “I’m sorry, baby boy. At first it was genuinely my fear of passing something on you. You've no idea how long it took me to sum up the guts to enter that damn clinic. I mean with all their frikkin' questions about sexual partners and positions and… jeez…"

Sam can't help but laugh at that, more empathetic than anything because he's done the test too.  

Dean sighs and continues, "Mostly Sammy, I was, I _am_ still, so fucking terrified that I’ll end up hurting you. I want you to be really,  _really_  sure, kiddo. I want to know all your limits and preferences… how far you want to go. I hold back because I-I'm not sure how far _I_   can go without feeling like I'm taking advantage of you. I mean, I'd never take advantage of anyone, I've never pushed anyone to do anything. But I know from first-hand experience people don't always tell you these things, you know. Sometimes they don't know it themselves. And  _especially_   with you, Sammy, you're my baby brother! And that evokes a certain kind of protective instinct that conflicts with this other side of me that just wants to throw you across every flat surface I see and… jeez, I'm not saying it right. What I'm trying to say is… I just can't switch off certain parts of me, you know?"

Sam listens quietly, hanging onto every word of his brother's heartfelt confession; lets it sink in through to his very soul, warming him up inside and out. He gazes up into Dean's eyes, those gorgeous sea greens shining with so much adoration, Sam wonders how he could possibly doubt this man's intentions ever. 

"And then sometimes…” Dean bites his lip, looking sheepish all of a sudden. “Sometimes, it's just so much fun watching you squirm that… ow! Hey… okay! Okay!”  
  
Sam hits him again, this time across the chest and tries to shove him off but Dean just laughs and pushes him back down effortlessly. Sam stays on his back, one knee propped up while Dean makes himself comfortable on top of him, in between his endless denim-clad legs.  
  
“Had enough? Or is there more fun you’d like to have at my expense?”  
  
Sam’s voice is seething but he's smiling, and there’s something… coy and hopeful in his eyes. Dean pecks briefly at the boy’s lips before pulling back slightly. “You’re so beautiful, even - or especially - when you’re pissed as hell.”  
  
Sam grabs Dean’s collar pulling him down and closer to himself. “Do not ruin this moment, Dean Winchester. Fuck me now or forever hold your dick in your…”  
  
Dean cuts him off with a brutal, adamant kiss. And Sam wrings his arms around his lover’s neck to keep him right there.  
  
“Fuck, Sammy… you’ve no idea how difficult this has been…” Dean rambles amid the fervent kissing and groping hands fighting to get each other’s clothes off. “I’ve waited so long to make sure our first time is absolutely perfect…”

"Yeah? How so?"  
  
“No interruptions, no fear of Dad walking in any minute… Sammy, you didn’t even need to pull this cheerleader caper today. I had such elaborate plans for us tonight…”

Sam realizes Dean is referring to the fact that John left for a job in Minnesota last night and wouldn’t be back until next week at the very least. This is the first time since they got together, that they’ve been left, most definitely, alone.

“Less talk, more… oh God…”  
  
Sam gasps, as Dean puts a hand under his shirt and tweaks and plays with his nipples. He throws his head back, then arches up and off the bed, wincing at the delicious sting from the merciless pinches. Jackets, shirts and undershirts, followed by shoes and socks, one by one hit the floor and the boys next start working on each other’s zippers. When they’re both finally bare, Sam hooks an ankle behind Dean’s legs and pulls him back into another punishing kiss. They rub their erections against and into one another, rocking up and down, back and forth, whichever way possible in search of that fleeting friction that is never ever, really enough.  
  
Dean pulls the same ankle off the small of his back and hoists it up over his shoulder instead, all without breaking the lip-lock once. One of his hands strokes down the slender stretched thigh until he is fondling his brother’s scrotum lovingly. He feels Sam’s breath speeding up against his face as the hand sneaks behind the heavy balls to tickle the soft sensitive patch of skin there. Sam gasps almost as if in pain, and wrenches his mouth away.  
  
“Dean…”  
  
“Yeah, baby.”  
  
Sam looks into Dean’s eyes resolutely. “No more foreplay…”  
  
“Awesome.”  
  
Dean’s pupils dilate and he’s gasping his own tune of lust and eagerness when he reaches out to a bedside drawer for lubricant. Doesn’t take very long to slick up three fingers and starts with inserting two of them into Sam almost roughly. It would have hurt if Sam hadn’t been stretched enough the night before. As it stands, Sam eagerly undulates back into the finger fucking, his muffled moans urging Dean to get on with it already.  
  
Dean soon inserts the third finger as well, and a couple minutes later, Sam is squirming to show his unhappiness. “You’re doing it again.”  
  
“The first time hurts, Sammy. I just want to…”  
  
“Stop being a wuss and get in there, now!”  
  
Dean gawks at his little brother for not more than a second and then he grins. “Yes sir!”  
  
He pulls back briefly and with one hand, he continues to fondle Sam’s genitals while with the other he slicks up his own cock, now oozing precum generously. Soon after, he positions himself at Sam’s entrance and starts to slowly but firmly push inside. The first groan halts his thrust and Dean looks up, his own face scrunched up with agony because damn it he needs to get in there now!  
  
“Sammy? Okay?”  
  
“Yeah… keep going.”  
  
The sphincter yawns and stretches around the mushrooming head of Dean’s penis until it’s completely through and an explosion of breath escapes Sam’s mouth simultaneously. After that there is no stopping Dean. He drives home in one massive thrust and Sam gasps aloud again.  
  
“You okay?”  
  
“Stop asking me that! I’m fucking okay. I’m more than fucking okay, dickhead! Now move!”  
  
Dean chuckles. “Language, Sammy. Don’t make me spank your hot ass after I’m done pounding it good and… ahh!!”  
  
Sam giggles in return. “Is that a threat or a promise?”  
  
Dean laughs out loud, then lowers his mouth onto Sam’s and pushes his tongue inside avidly. He starts to move then, slowly and carefully, pulling all the way out until just his head is stuck within the rim of Sam’s anus, before pushing back in again. Times it perfectly with the tug of war their tongues are currently engaged in. It is maybe once in every three or four thrusts that Dean consistently hits home, and every time Sam moans into the kiss loudly, his eyes squeezed shut so tight, a couple of tears leak out the sides.  
  
The thrusts are slow and deep to begin with, then start to come fast and short until the whole rhythm is shot and plain erratic and completely out of Dean’s own control. He braces himself on his knees with shins firmly planted on the bed, and his hands by the side of Sam’s head to gather enough force and leverage for the thrusts. Sam’s own hands explore Dean’s back, with every circuit of strokes encouraging Dean to keep going.  
  
He still can’t believe how fantastic this feels… the comprehension of being so thoroughly plundered, invaded and occupied by the one he so consummately loves… Sam couldn’t possibly articulate what he’s feeling. The sense of completion is at once both comforting and disturbing. Like this is how it’s always meant to be – Dean and Sam. Sam and Dean. And yet, the thought of being so utterly co-dependent scares the hell out of him.  
  
“Sammy…”  
  
A desperate, sweltering plea brings the present back into sharp, well, less hazy, focus. His half-lidded eyes resist the strain but open nonetheless to look into the angelic face hovering above him, the face that is flushed and breathless and dripping beads of sweat all over Sam’s chest.  
  
“I’m gonna…”  
  
Sam lifts his other leg off the bed and wraps it around the back of Dean’s thighs tightly.  
  
“Come on Dean, come for me.”  
  
Still rocked by the force of Dean’s thrusts inside of him, he uses one hand to fist himself while he keeps the other one wrapped around Dean’s neck like he was hanging on for dear life. And Dean can’t hold back anymore. Provoked by the walls of Sam’s passage rapidly contracting around his length Dean stiffens at last, then spasms through to a magnificent finish. His mouth opens into a soundless scream and his balls are strained dry as he comes inside the younger boy’s ass.  
  
Sam watches his brother climax, and it sends his own pulse quickening and stomach clenching until he explodes with a wail. Thanks all heaven and Dean for making sure Dad isn’t around because that scream is so loud it's sure to make Mrs. Biaginni suspicious.  
  
_God… Sammy, Sam… Sammy…_  
  
It takes a while for Sam to realize the chanting is coming from the unmovable deadweight atop his own spent body. Another few seconds pass languorously before he identifies the name being repeated like prayers of rosary as his own.  
  
Minutes pass, maybe months, Sam couldn’t be sure. Dean softens inside of him and gradually slips out without a sound, and Sam can do nothing but sigh for the aching emptiness left behind. But he’s smiling. Oh hell, he can’t stop smiling.  
  
“This is it.”  
  
Dean pants, lifts his head out of the crook of Sam’s neck to look at him once. “What?”  
  
“This…” Sam looks around the room like he’s seeing it for the first time in his life, before looking back at Dean. His eyes sparkle with something so beyond contentment its unnamable, and all he wants to do is go to sleep now, with Dean still locked within the circle of his arms.  
  
“This is my happy ending.”  
  
Dean grins back. “Oh no, princess. This ain’t the end.”  
  
He kisses Sam once, softly, treasuring his little brother’s cherry lips. “This is only the beginning. Happy Valentine’s, kiddo.”  
  
Sam laughs, his happiness knowing no bounds.

They crash then, and don’t wake up for the next fifteen hours, something they’ve never done before, not even after the mammoth ninety-six hour job they accompanied Dad on last year. Sam buries his face in Dean's chest and allows his big brother to wrap him up in blankets and strong arms and the limitless warmth of his love. A tragic rock ballad quietly hummed into his hair carries him into the calming waters of sleep.  
  
He sleeps straight through their first Valentine’s Day together, and couldn’t possibly care less for it.

 

***********************************  
Blue Earth, Minnesota.   
Three days later, February 1999**  
*************************************  
  
The hunter nurses his fifth double shot of Jack sitting on the tiny bar counter, the only one to be found for hundreds of miles in either direction. For all intents and purposes, he looks like a tired, haggard, old man, but in reality he's not even out of his forties yet. Another man, a strange, quiet one, dressed in a black priest’s robe and a wide Stetson hat walks up to him. He waits for some sort of greeting or acknowledgment to come his way but it doesn’t, so he simply pulls up another stool and makes himself comfortable. Takes off his monster hat, orders a glass of water with ice.  
  
“You were right, Jimmy.” the drinking man mumbles, staring into the mysterious depths of his half-empty shot glass. “I should have listened to you fourteen years ago.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
Looking up at his old friend, the hunter smirks. It’s the same smirk he sees reflected on his firstborn’s face every single day. He shrugs, struggles to find the right words in order to answer his friend’s big question. And of course, like his firstborn, the words simply wouldn’t come. And the memories simply wouldn’t go away.  
  
“Tell me something, Jim. All those times I left the boys in your care… did you ever see Dean  _not_   take the bed by the door?”  
  
“Well… no. He always wanted to be on guard. Always trying to watch out for his little brother.”  
  
_// Don’t worry about him, Dad. He’s just sulking ‘cause I won’t let him have the bed by the window. //_  
  
John gulps down the rest of his drink and signals for another one while his friend continues his trip down memory lane.  
  
“Yeah, especially in the night, he just wouldn’t leave Sammy alone, followed him around like a shadow, or like a loyal German Shepard. The Shtriga attack did such a number on the poor kid…”  
  
_// Can I sleep here in your room, Dad? I’m afraid one of us might off the other in his sleep if I go back in there. //_  
  
John remembers the months right after Mary… how Dean would wake up in the middle of the night, leave his own bed and instead crawl into Sam’s crib. And that’s where he’d find him when John would wake up… curled up protectively around his little brother.  
  
Like a shield.  
  
“John? What’s this about?”  
  
The hunter turns to his friend then. “What do you think could make Dean not want to be around Sammy?”  
  
Pastor Jim sighs, realizing he isn’t about to get any of his own questions answered unless he answers John’s first. He thinks, shrugs.  
  
“Dean would never do that. He’s always trying to protect Sammy. Keep him safe from…”  
  
“Yeah.” John’s eyes are half-closed by now, his body language sluggish, defeated. “Always with the protecting of Sammy.”  
  
// Even if it is from Dean himself? //  
  
“Did they have an argument?”  
  
“They’re brothers, Jimmy. They butt heads all the damn time. It’s never stopped Dean from doing his job before. The job that was never his to begin with.”  
  
“…”  
  
“I shouldn’t have let him pretend Sam was his responsibility. Maybe I thought it was cute. Even  _you_  thought it was cute. But I let it go on too long, until he started to believe it really was. Hell, until I started to believe it myself.”  
  
“I don’t understand…”  
  
“Did you ever think Dean could hurt Sammy bad enough to keep him off a job?”  
  
“John…”  
  
The boys thought they fooled him back at the Kindred cemetery but John knew something was going on, he just couldn't figure out what. And Dean's insistence to not let Sam inside the mansion… sure he's always tried to keep Sam out of harm's way on previous hunts, but never like this - never by injuring Sam himself. 

So many other things didn't add up. Like Dean locking their bedroom door at night. Like Dean turning away hot, eager blondes that he could never get enough of until last year. Like the way Sam looks at his big brother these days, with so much yearning and desperation, the way he ignores all of John's orders but jumps to them the moment Dean repeats them to him.

Like the lies. So many lies. Dean's lies.

Dean. Lying to John. Imagine that.

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight. C’mon, let’s go back to the parish.”  
  
Pastor Jim pushes the now empty shot glass out of reach of his friend’s seeking hands and tugs him into an upright position. He puts a hand around one bulging ex-marine bicep and starts to drag him out of the bar.  
  
“I don't believe it, I don't... because Dean doesn’t lie, you know? Not to his old man. No sir.”  
  
“I know. He doesn’t. Come on.”  
  
“I should have listened to you back then, Jimmy. Why didn’t you push me harder?”  
  
Pastor Jim stays silent, firmly easing his friend out of the roadhouse and towards the parking lot.  
  
“I should have given them up then. That way the boys would have hated me. But I would have had the fucking demon to blame.  _He_  did this to my family. All of it. Fucker evil sonofafuckingbitch from hell.”  
  
The man of cloth winces at every curse word leaving John’s mouth, but now is not the time to get preachy. He reaches his truck and starts to unlock it to get John inside.  
  
“Now it’s all screwed. We’re all so fucking screwed, Jimmy. My boys end up hating me anyway. And I can’t even blame that demon, damn him. I screwed up, Jimmy. I screwed up.”  
  
Pastor Jim gets into the driver’s seat after buckling John in and starts to gun the engine. But he stops. He still doesn’t get it. He looks sideways at a slumping John, frowning so hard his face hurt.  
  
“What  _happened_ , John?”  
  
He gives his old friend two minutes, three… but gets no response in return. John stares out into the white expanse beyond the windshield of his truck.  
  
He doesn’t want to tell Pastor Jim and then have to listen to his theological bullshit about sins and consequences. He lost his faith long ago, long before Mary, back in Nam itself. So he never had any to pass on to his sons in the first place. John’s entire body of faith has always been vested in his son Dean. He wouldn’t have survived this far and maybe neither would Sam, if it weren’t for Dean. But for a brief time recently, he’d stood with trembling legs on the verge of losing it forever.  
  
He can’t tell Pastor Jim about the job at Cat’s Creek where Sammy got knocked out by the chimera they’d been hunting and how he didn’t wake up until the next morning… and how John had sent Dean out on a useless errand so he could… so he could examine his little boy for any signs of abuse, physical or… sexual. He was both ashamed and relieved that all he found were remnants of physical strain and old scars, each one pretty much directly John’s fault. Not Dean’s. The only thing he could hold Dean responsible for was a recent line of nine stitches, neat and compact, sown in perfectly with the utmost care.  
  
John couldn’t even remember the last time he’d tended to a wound on Sam’s body.  
  
Pastor Jim exhales in resignation, turns and starts the truck. The hollow chugging of his old pickup echoes through the empty night for a while, jerking John back into the present.  
  
The night is nearly bright as a sun-less day with the snow glistening far as his hazy eyes could see. Sam would have loved this, he vaguely thinks, even if he isn’t all that willing to share his likes and dislikes with his Daddy anymore.  
  
The Sam he knew five years ago would have squealed and frolicked in the snow and dragged his family out to play with him. And he would have laughed and jumped into his father’s arms and never wanted to let go. The Dean of five years ago would have made a face and some smart-assed crack about his little brother’s bona fide nerdhood, but he’d have happily taken Sammy’s side in the snowball fight, brothers united against their father.  
  
When had he turned from a fake bad guy into a real one? Things hadn’t changed all that much – his boys were still ganging up together in ways John had never imagined possible. But what’s worse, he had never thought it’d be against him.  
  
“Maybe you’re reading too much into it, whatever it is.” The pastor attempts a shot in the dark. “Boys will be boys, you know?”  
  
John sighs, he wants so desperately to agree. But he just… isn’t… sure. And he can’t stop blaming himself. His boys seem to have found solace in each other, for now, no matter how twisted and unnatural it may be. And looks like Dean now has better control over the little rebel, just as Sam is more firmly anchored to this family, for now. Fact is, because he's given so very little to his boys that the thought of putting a stop  to... _this_... whatever _this_  is, doesn't even occur to John. And yet he can’t help this sinking feeling of foreboding in his heart that this, their...  _solace_... is going to wall him out, separate him from his own sons. And then, what happens when Dean is forced to choose?  
  
// He's going to have to choose. You know it. And  _he_  knows it. //  
  
John shudders, clenches his eyes shut because he's not permitted to cry. Sooner or later, it will happen. He’s going to lose the only thing he’s got left, the only thing that’s worth anything and everything to him in this world. And when that time comes, John would have no choice but to give them up.  
  
“Dean’s got a good head on his shoulders. Gets it from his old man. I’d trust him if I were you.”  
  
“Yeah. I… Yeah.”  
  
He trusts him. He trusts them both. And for now, that will just have to be enough.

 

***** THE END *****  


End file.
